


Reason

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha Mycroft, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Mpreg, Omega Sherlock, Sibling Incest, Sorry Not Sorry, holmescest, sin - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-14 16:48:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 23,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9194081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It's said that you can reason yourself into anything. Takes place from s3e4- onward





	1. Chapter 1

Mycroft's office was unusually stifling. In fact, Sherlock was boiling in his light cotton button down as he was read the riot act. He desperately longed to shed another layer, but he was down to his last and he wasn't about to strip naked.

"Sherlock? Are you listening to a damn word I'm saying?" Mycroft hissed at him from behind his large oak desk.

"Oh! I'm terribly sorry! It's just hard to concentrate on your banter when it's so bloody hot in here, Mycroft!" Sherlock practically shouted back. He'd already been lectured on the jet, and with the heat and the way his skin suddenly itched his patience was worn paper thin.

"Hot? Sherlock it's only 23 degrees in here." As he finished the sentence the scent hit him, filling him with a sense of dread. "Brother mine, I fear you've forgotten something rather important." He stated calmly

"Forgotten something? What on earth coul-" before Sherlock could finish, he felt slick run down his legs "-oh bloody hell." He hissed.

"I'll get you a cab to your flat and-"

"No. No this case is too important for me to be sitting at home for a week quite literally riding it out."

"Well then Sherlock, what do you suggest I do?" Mycroft barked. Brother or not, having a heating omega so very close was certainly taking its toll on his composure.

"Fuck me." Sherlock stated plainly.

"I beg your pardon?!"

"The sooner I'm knotted, the sooner the heat is over, the sooner I can get back to saving England. As you are the only Alpha in the vicinity, you are the best candidate, so if you would be so kind as to-"

"Absolutely not. I am your _brother_ for God's sake!"

"Really?! I had no clue! I thought you were the bloody Queen!" Sherlock rose to his feet, leaning over the desk to look his elder brother in the eye. The fight continued silently, until the younger finally caved. Sherlock used his last resort, the words he knew always got him anything he wanted. "Myke, please. Help me. You're the only one who can fix this." He practically whispered 

Mycroft sighed, pushing back from the desk. "Alright Sherlock. You can stop the theatrics." He said, stalking towards him. He wrapped an arm around his brother's waist and drew him into a kiss, pressing his hips flush against Sherlock's. He pulled away, leaving the other panting softly. "I'll go along with your ridiculous plan, as usual." Backing Sherlock into the desk, Mycroft began to undo his belt. He wanted to get this over with relatively quickly, lest their relationship become more strained.

As Mycroft busied himself with the unfastening of Sherlock's (now thoroughly soaked) trousers, Sherlock hastily undid the buttons of his shirt. He felt utterly stupid for neglecting to take his heat suppressants in the first place. Sherlock hated to acknowledge his nature, especially if it interfered with a case. And now he was resorting to shagging his own brother just to be rid of these damn symptoms. Unable to finish the buttons, he simply tore the shirt off. He'd purchase another later. Mycroft glared at him from between his legs. 

"Was that _absolutely_ necessary?"

"Yes. It's no wonder that you're unmated. You're so bloody sentimental. In fact, I think the most baffling case I've ever been presented with is how the hell you lost your virgini-AH!"

A firm bite to the shoulder had put an end to that conversation. It stung, but something more instinctual in Sherlock was begging for more. His hips thrust against the cool material of Mycroft's trousers and the Alpha chuckled, kissing the blossoming hickey as he pulled away. He smirked down at his younger brother's flustered face.

"Goodness me, if I had known that was all it took to shut you up, I'd have done this some time ago." Mycroft's voice was huskier than usual, betraying his arousal rather uncharacteristically. Sherlock took the opportunity to reach between them and cup him through his trousers. Mycroft groaned, pressing into Sherlock's hand brazenly.

"Enough talk. Let's get on with this, shall we?" Sherlock said breathily. He tried to maintain his usual attitude, but the heat was becoming more demanding the longer he denied himself the Alpha before him, and he was certain that his brother was no better off. 

"Of course, my demanding little brother."

The speed at which Mycroft removed his clothing was one Sherlock had not thought him capable of. He found himself staring as Mycroft lined himself up, just to make sure that he was still the same chubby, out of shape, 40 year old man that Sherlock was sure he'd entered the room with. Without so much as a warning, Mycroft pushed in, burying himself to the hilt in his brother's heat slicked hole.

They groaned simultaneously at the feeling. Mycroft's hips stuttered as he fought the urge to thrust unashamedly into the omega, allowing him time to adjust to his size. Only when Sherlock started to thrust against him did he dare move. But when he did receive that permission, it was delicious. Mycroft lost himself completely in the sounds, the taste, the feeling of Sherlock. He buried his face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent deeply, trying not to think too hard about how fantastic it felt, how it was the best he'd ever had, because this was his baby brother damn it. 

Sherlock bit back another moan as Mycroft hammered against his prostate. It was so much more, so much better than he anticipated. He matched his brother thrust for thrust , vaguely aware of Mycroft scenting him as their tryst began to draw to a close. In an experiment in his big brother's self-control, he bared his neck to him, daring him to take him, to mark him as his own. Sherlock delighted in the turmoil that ran across his brothers face as he was caught between his sense of reason and the desire to claim. In one swift move, Mycroft sank his teeth into Sherlock's scent glands as he drove his knot up his brother's taught hole. Sherlock found himself coming at the feeling of being filled, his brother's name on his lips as he felt his body give in to the bond.

" Y-you lost, dear brother." Sherlock panted "That was an exercise in self-restraint and you utterly failed. Although, I can't say that was unenjoyable. In fact, I really wonder why I haven't thought of this before."

Mycroft was coming down from his orgasmic high, and regret began to pool in his belly like lead. "You can't mean that I'm your-"

" First? Well yes it is rather hard to believe."

Mycroft hung his head in shame. He let his brother down once again. Sherlock had needed him and he had simply taken advantage of him. "I-I'm.....terribly sorry. I'll phone a cab to take you back to Baker Street as soon as we can separate. And should you wish it, you'll never have to hear from me again ."

"Oh, come off it Myke." Sherlock scoffed " I wanted this just as badly as you did. Besides, you can't send me back to Baker Street. I'm not done with you yet. I've got at least two more rounds before I'll be satisfied, and even then it might not keep my symptoms at bay for long. Perhaps I'd better just stay at your place."

Mycroft leaned down to kiss Sherlock, then his mark, letting himself live in a fantasy world where it was okay for them to be mates. His fingers laced with Sherlock's, and he whispered "I love you." In a voice he hoped was barely audible.


	2. Chapter 2

The weeks went by, and to Mycroft's surprise, things began to return to normal. Sherlock never gave the impression that anything transpired at all. Back to solving cases, back to biding his time. Mycroft, however, buried himself in work. He wanted to be able to ignore their incestuous encounter for as long as humanly possible. However, the blissful ignorance was irrevocably ruined when he got the text from Sherlock almost a month later.

 **Mycroft. Come to Baker Street immediately. It's urgent. -SH**

He was inclined to ignore the phone in favor of getting to his meeting with the Queen, until the second message came in.

**Please Myke. I need you. -SH**

"Driver, turn around!" He called from the back seat of the car

"But sir, the Queen-"

"Will have to wait. Tell her that I'm terribly sorry, but an important family matter came up."

Minutes later, he was being ushered upstairs by Mrs. Hudson.

"Poor dear. He's been like that for an entire day now. I'm beginning to worry about him." She tutted at his elbow. "Alright then, I'll leave you boys to it! Thank you, Mycroft." 

"It was really no trouble at all." He lied, stepping through the doorway.

Sherlock sat at the edge of his usual armchair, fingers steepled in from of his face, and leaning over a sheet of paper. He looked deep in thought, and vaguely shaken.

"I do hope that this is actually important this time, I'll have you know that I missed an audience with the Queen to be here."

Without speaking, Sherlock handed him the sheet of paper. Mycroft ran his eyes over it briefly. Blood work. What on earth? A highlighted column catches his eye. Hcg? No. Oh god no. The results were undeniable.

"H-how far along are you?" Mycroft asked, even though he knew the answer.

"Nearly a month." Sherlock said to the wall.

Mycroft sighed, allowing himself to collapse onto the couch. He'd really done it now. They were mated, and now Sherlock was pregnant. 

"What are we going to do about this?"

"This is most certainly an option." Sherlock said, passing him a pill bottle. Misoprostol. Mycroft lifted his eyes to Sherlock, an almost fearful look on his face. 

"You haven't-"

"No, not yet. I figured you should know. You don't want to...keep it, do you?"

Mycroft went silent. Did he want this? "....yes. I think I might."

Sherlock sighed in exasperation. He moved to sit next to his brother. "I thought you might." He handed Mycroft another sheet of paper.

"What's this one?"

"Genetic screening results. Given the circumstances of conception, it seemed appropriate. She's fine. Developing normally."

"She?"

"Two x chromosomes. She."

"I see. Sherlock, forgive me for saying so, but that's a lot of work to put in on a child you don't intend on keeping." Mycroft gripped his hand. "Are you quite certain about this?"

"No. No I'm not. I-I really want to keep her, Myke. But my god, have you _seen_ the life I live? How could I bring a child into that? I'm utterly terrified."

"Oh Sherlock." He pulled his little brother into an embrace, stroking his hair soothingly. "How you doubt your big brother. If I can get you out of anything, I can certainly extend the same privileges to our child. We can do this. It won't be ideal, but we can manage. We always do." 

"I love you too, Myke."

"I beg your pardon?"

"When we mated, you told me that you love me. I love you too."

"Ah." Mycroft sighed. He kissed the top of Sherlock's head.

"I hope you know that I don't regret any of this. It might not have been in my plans, but I don't regret it." Sherlock said.

"Good, because neither do I."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I'd provide a list of everyone's presentations for convenience's sake. 
> 
> Sherlock- Omega  
> Mycroft- Alpha  
> John- Beta  
> Mary- Beta  
> Mrs. Hudson- Beta  
> Molly- Alpha  
> Lestrade- Alpha  
> Mrs. Holmes- Omega  
> Mr. Holmes- Beta

"I'm sorry, what?" John asked through his cup of tea. He'd been pulled away from rubbing Mary's feet by yet another "urgent" text from Sherlock. He'd been expecting a case, or an experiment, or literally anything else.

"I'm pregnant, John. You heard me the first time, don't play stupid." Sherlock replied in a short tone.

"I know, but you and parenting don't really go hand in hand. I think a little shock is reasonable."

"I suppose." Sherlock said coldly. Although John had more than enough reason to doubt his ability to raise a child, it still rubbed him the wrong way to hear it said.

"Who's the father?"

Sherlock bristled at the question. He hadn't really gone over what would be said in regards to this. "That's unimportant."

"So you don't know them."

"On the contrary, I've known him for quite a long time now."

Given a clue, John sat back in his chair to contemplate. "Lestrade?"

"Oh god no!" Sherlock laughed at the thought of him and Lestrade attempting a relationship. Greg was a nice guy, but he wouldn't be able to put up with Sherlock at an intimate level. Come to think of it, there was really only one man who could.

"Well given those identifiers, there's really only- no. Oh my god Sherlock, you didn't!" John was floored. Mycroft. Holy Hell it had been Mycroft.

"If by that you mean 'mate and conceive a child with my own brother', then yes, I did." 

John sighed and sank back into the chair. He really should have seen this coming. From his first interactions with Mycroft Holmes, he could tell that his love for Sherlock was more than what was considered decent for siblings. What he'd never really anticipated was Sherlock reciprocating. 

"Do I even need to say how inappropriate this is?"

"No, I assure you, I am well aware."

"How far along are you?" John asked. He figured that an incestuous bond and subsequent love child was far from the worst thing Sherlock had sprung on him. Besides, he could be hallucinating, but Sherlock seemed... happy. Really and truly. And the last thing he wanted was to take that away.

"About a month now. And before you ask, we're both getting on just fine. "

"Do your parents know yet?"

"No." Sherlock said. The Holmes brothers hadn't yet decided what to tell their parents. It was going to be a difficult conversation no matter what. 

"Well, with Mary due in a few months, you couldn't have picked a better time. You'll get to learn by example." John smiled

"I'm not sure that yours is an example worth following." Sherlock teased back. "But, all that aside, I didn't just call you out here to have a nice chat."

"Of course not. Because we can't just pretend to be normal blokes for just one minute." John sighed, rolling his eyes

"No. Where's the fun in that?


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock sat in his chair, pouring over information on his laptop. Try though he might, the smell of dinner being prepared kept distracting him. So far, the worst part of pregnancy has been his body's sudden insistence upon things like food, or drink, or sleep, which slowed his processes. He sighed dramatically, closing his laptop just a little too hard.

"Having trouble cracking the case, Sherlock?" Mycroft called from the kitchen. Though he'd sworn he'd never move into Baker Street, the past two months saw more and more of his things finding their way into the flat. A suit or two in the closet. A monogrammed bath towel. An umbrella. The apron he was currently wearing. Sherlock could tell that he was winning the argument of who would move in with whom, but he didn't dare say anything.

"It is impossible to concentrate in this state." Sherlock pouted, adjusting the pillow behind his back. 

"Well fortunately for you, dinner's ready." Mycroft said, replacing the laptop with a plate of stir fry. 

"Mmmmmm. You are good for something after all." Sherlock teased

"Oh shove it. I've saved your sorry arse more times than you can count." Mycroft said before turning his attention to his own plate.

"57." Sherlock said around a mouthful of food.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Counting from as far back as I can remember, you have saved my life approximately 57 times."

Mycroft fell silent. All this time, he'd been counting? Goodness their relationship was fucked up. "You've been keeping track?"

"Of course." Sherlock said casually. 

"And yet every time I do, you go and get yourself in trouble again."

"Mycroft, not even you can save me from myself." Sherlock lifted his eyes to his brother's. In them, he found melancholy, but also unwavering affection. 

"No, I suppose you're right." He said, looking into his lap (a tick he'd had since childhood, Sherlock noted.) "But it won't stop me from trying."

"How noble."

They finished the meal in silence, and Mycroft took their dishes to the kitchen before returning to his spot on the couch. Sherlock was back on the laptop finishing up another in a long line of simple cases. They sat in silence for a short while before Mycroft spoke up.

"Must we sit so far apart?"

"You could move the couch closer."

"No thank you." Mycroft scowled "I still don't understand why you won't allow me to sit across from you."

" _Really_ Mycroft, it is incredibly simple. That is John's chair. You are not John, therefore you do not belong in his chair." Sherlock explained for the umpteenth time.

"Then why can't you move over here?"

Sherlock sighed with exasperation. "Because, dear brother, this is _my_ chair. This is where I work, because you are far too much of a distraction."

Soundlessly, Mycroft stalked over to his brother and gently shut his laptop.

"Mycroft!"

"Hush. You've been at that damn computer all day, it's time you get a break." Mycroft said, lifting him from the chair with a bit of effort. He carried his pouting mate to the bedroom and sat him on the bed. 

"Dammit Myke! I still had work to do!" Sherlock spat as Mycroft pulled a pair of monogrammed pyjamas from his dresser (a new addition, most certainly, as they had not been there this morning) and began to change. 

"The spouse killed the dog, the old woman's son is in Vietnam, and that wasn't murder, it was a freak accident. There. Now your work is done-" Mycroft said flatly as he finished dressing. "And I can have you to myself." He punctuated this with a kiss, and slid into bed beside his brother.

"Those were _my_ cases to solve." Sherlock persisted, but Mycroft's hands were sliding under his shirt and he was rapidly losing the will to fight.

"Then solve them faster. Use that beautiful brain of yours." Mycroft whispered, kissing and nuzzling his scent glands. His hands came to rest Sherlock's slowly developing bump. He knew that at only three months, he shouldn't be able to feel her move yet, but there was something just comforting about the gesture. Sherlock's hand moved to his head and began to run through his ginger locks, and Mycroft knew that he had won. 

He fell asleep long before Sherlock, curled protectively around his mate's abdomen, and Sherlock used this time to admire him. He'd never admit it, but he'd always found Mycroft exceedingly gorgeous. The softness of his older brother's features was heightened in sleep and the silence was amazing. Placing a soft kiss on his forehead, Sherlock rolled over and fell asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

"Would you like to hold her?" His ears registered Mary's voice, but he was sending off another solution to a simple case. Sherlock looked up briefly from his phone at the utterly exhausted woman lying in the hospital bed. He slipped his cell into the pocket of his coat decidedly. 

"Yes, of course." He said, and John placed the newborn in his arms. The infant fussed a moment, after being passed to an absolute stranger, and opened one eye to regard him. "Hello there." Sherlock smiled, ignoring the buzzing in his pocket. "You look just like your papa. Have they decided on what to call you yet, or are they still arguing about it?"

"Her name's Rosamund." Mary replied

"It is?" John asked, shooting his wife a questioning gaze. "I don't remember that."

"That's because I didn't tell you. I signed the birth certificate while you were out getting me a coffee." 

Sherlock chuckled at them. "Goodness. I'm so sorry Rosie, I can't imagine having _those two_ as my parents. It's a good thing you have such a wonderful godfather." He teased. "Alright sweetheart, let's give you back to mummy. Uncle Sherlock's gotta get home before his brother throws a fit." He gave the baby back to Mary, and turned to John. "Congratulations on successfully procreating, John. I wish you the best of luck with training your offspring to sleep through the night." He added, pulling the beta into a brief hug before walking out of the door.

John stood flabbergasted. "Did you see that?" He said to his wife, all arguments forgotten "He hugged me. Sherlock Holmes of all people, _hugged_ me!"

"Yes John. I do believe it's fair to assume that the mood swings are hitting him rather hard." Mary said, smiling. 

Meanwhile, Sherlock sat in the back of a cab reading over the text that had pulled him away.

**Sherlock. We need to talk. Come home immediately. -MH**

**I'm clean, Mycroft. I swear. -SH**

**I know. -MH**

The cab pulled up to his front door, and he leapt out before it could really stop, tossing a few notes at the driver as he went. He flew through the door and up the stairs to his (their) apartment. He took a minute to compose himself before opening the door. 

"Welcome home, brother mine." Mycroft said calmly from the couch.

"I'm here. What's wrong?" Sherlock replied as he removed his coat and went to sit next to his mate. 

"It's been three months, two weeks, and 4 days since we bonded, and yet we still haven't talked about the last 22 years." Mycroft sighed

"Yes, and I'd rather keep it that way." Sherlock retorted. The last 22 years had not been pleasant in terms of his relationship with Mycroft, and he didn't want to dwell on them. "The past is the past. We cannot change it, so why dwell on it?"

"Because, Sherlock. I need to know what was going on. In those years, you attempted suicide twice, blaming me in both of your notes. I helped you get clean and watched you fall back into addiction at least 12 times. I almost lost you on 4 other non-drug related incidents. You closed me out, you hated me, and then three months ago you come into my office and you practically beg for me. And then, it was like nothing had happened. You pushed me away and seemed perfectly content to keep me at arm's length until you discovered you were pregnant. I've been patient, Sherlock. I've never questioned any of your actions. But if you're serious about being my mate, we need to talk about this. _I_ need to talk about this." Mycroft's voice cracked at the last sentence of his monologue, thoroughly shattering the illusion of cool composure.

Sherlock sighed, preparing for the difficult conversation that was to follow. "Mycroft, I-I never hated you. I never could. That was always the problem." Sherlock was losing his hold on his emotions faster than he'd anticipated. He took a ragged breath before continuing, visibly shaking as he did. "I've always loved you, My. I loved you, a-and you abandoned me, and I needed you. I-I needed you so badly and you weren't there. You broke my heart and I couldn't put it behind me." 

"Oh Sherlock.." Mycroft sighed, pulling him into his arms. It was then that Sherlock's will finally caved and he began to cry. Mycroft held him tighter and buried his face in the crook of his neck. "I'm so very sorry. I always knew you resented my actions when I went off to university, but I-I didn't- I never-" Mycroft wept softly. A sensitive child, he'd learned from a young age to cry silently. Drawing a deep breath, he continued. "I know. I know I promised that we wouldn't drift apart, that I would stay in contact, but Sherlock, I loved you too. You were too young to know that what we had was inappropriate. I myself was just beginning to learn that we were... closer than siblings should be. I did it because I thought I was protecting you. But then that Christmas, the one when I came home, I was 21, you were 15. Mummy and Papa had just left to go do the last of the shopping, and I noticed that you hadn't been downstairs in a while."

Sherlock inhaled sharply. He knew this one. He knew where it was going, and he wasn't exactly sure he wanted to hear it from his brother's point of view. 

"I went upstairs to check on you, and I found you in the bathroom, leaned over the tub with the contents of the medicine cabinet sprawled around you. I remember, because when I called 999 they asked me what you had taken and I genuinely had no idea. When the ambulance came for you, I pocketed the slip of paper you had in your hand. As far as anyone else knows, the only suicide note you've ever left was your phone call to John. But I read it, and my guilt was cemented. Everything I'd ever done from the day you were born was for you, and yet I still failed you. I vowed that day to never leave your side. I couldn't fail you again. I kept every single suicide note, every list of drugs, every article you ever wrote me for that very reason. I love you, brother mine. I always have, and I always will. I'm so sorry for ever doubting our relationship."

Sherlock clung to his big brother like his life depended on it as they both cried. Mycroft, as usual, was right and Sherlock hated it. They had needed more than anything to talk about this. He pulled back and cupped Mycroft's tear-stained face, memorizing it before kissing him gently. Mycroft wrapped his arms around his younger brother's torso as Sherlock's moved his hands to run comfortingly through his hair. Slowly, 22 years of damage melted away like butter on a hot day and though rows were still common between them, the Holmes brothers were once again inseparable. 


	6. Chapter 6

"I can't believe you're eating that _slop_ over the wonderful dinner I prepared you." Mycroft complained as Sherlock wolfed down the last of a bag of chips from the local McDonald's.

"Don't blame me, it's your daughter! I've gotten into states where I'd kill a man for some chips." He returned, wiping his hands on a napkin before returning to his search for the other Margaret Thatcher busts. 

"Well I'm certainly glad that blood isn't the going rate for McDonald's chips."

"So. When are you going to tell me what's bothering you?" Sherlock asked casually.

"Nothing is bothering me, Sherlock." Mycroft said, taking his plate to the kitchen and throwing out the empty chips bag. If it weren't for him, the flat would still be a pig stye.

"Oh brother mine, how stupid do you think I am? You've been a comfort binger almost as long as I've been alive. You've put on 3 pounds in the last 3 weeks, therefore you are binging, therefore something is bothering you. You haven't yet mentioned it to me, so it's probably family related, or something that you think would affect me. Or maybe you're hiding something. I really haven't figured out which, I think pregnancy is beginning to have an affect on my brain. So, I repeat; when are you going to tell me what's bothering you?"

Mycroft sighed. He should've known he couldn't avoid this conversation, he'd trained his little brother too well. "You're nearly 4 months along now, and we still haven't told our parents."

"And I don't plan on doing so." Sherlock responded almost immediately.

"We have to, Sherlock. Mummy's bound to ask questions, and you know that she'd see through any fabrications just as quickly as you or I."

"You do it then."

"Why me?"

"Because you were born first."

"That was _hardly_ under my control!"

"What on earth is going on up here?!" Mrs. Hudson shouted over the argument. She'd been trying to have a nice cup of tea and read the latest in her favorite romance novel series, when the row upstairs had escalated to the point when she couldn't hear herself think. "I thought you boys had made up a week ago?"

"We have made up." Sherlock hissed.

"Then what's all this about?!"

"Our parents. It's really nothing you could help with, Mrs. Hudson. Thank you, bye bye." Sherlock made a move to close the door, but his landlady held her ground.

"Now hang on a minute!" She huffed. "Why don't you two just pay them a visit? With your ages, I'm certain that your mum and dad will just be happy to get a grandchild at all. They might even overlook the fact that the child's father is also her uncle."

"That would require visiting my parents, Mrs. Hudson."

"Something I'm sure you haven't done in quite a while. They'd be delighted."

"She's right, Sherlock." Mycroft sighed, putting a hand on his shoulder. He always hated visits home, and this was sure to be no exception.

"I know, I'm just not happy about it."

"Alright, well, if you two are done with your little domestic, I'm getting back to my novels. My tea is getting cold. Have a good night, gentlemen." She said, turning to take her leave.

"Thank you once again for your input on my personal affairs, Mrs. Hudson. Have a lovely evening." Sherlock called down the hall before slammed the door with a sigh of frustration. "I hate it when she does that."

"I can tell." Mycroft smirked. "You've never taken kindly to being told what to do." He wrapped his arms around Sherlock's waist, letting his hands rest on the slight bump. 

"Not at all." Sherlock said, moaning a little as Mycroft began to kiss down his neck

"I'll handle the scheduling." Mycroft said casually, as if one of his hands was not beginning to dip below the waistband of Sherlock's sweatpants. "I don't trust you not to make an arse of yourself."

"You shouldn't." Sherlock said, grinding backwards into his mate's crotch. Mycroft growled into his ear in response. "Bed?"

"My my, little brother. Giving up a case of your own volition? How uncharacteristic of you. Are you sure you're feeling alright?" Mycroft had fully slid his hand down Sherlock's pants and was now lazily stroking his cock, revelling in the little whimpers he let out. "You do feel a bit warmer than usual." 

"And you smell like you're going into a rut, brother mine. I'm surprised I hadn't noticed it previously." Sherlock said, his head now foggy with lust and the smell of alpha. He whined as Mycroft bit down lightly on his mark, releasing a wave of oxytocin laced with androgens, a powerful lust concoction of the body's own design. 

"Well you _were_ just a bit preoccupied." He whispered, his voice having gone quite husky. Mycroft began to slide Sherlock's sweatpants down slowly, taking his boxers down with them.

"Hmmmmm. With the way things are heading, I highly doubt we'll make it to the bed." Sherlock stated. 

"Unlikely." Mycroft replied as he pushed his mate onto the couch. Sherlock pulled his shirt over his head as Mycroft slid his pants the rest of the way down, leaving him completely nude. The elder Holmes began to kiss down his brother's torso hungrily. He gave the omega's nipple an experimental lick, judging his reaction very carefully. When he arched into the stimulation and let out a soft cry of pleasure, Mycroft closed his mouth around it, working it over with great care before bestowing the same attention on the other one. Sherlock was a whimpering mess, cheeks flushed, breath heaving, a puddle of slick forming on the couch beneath him. "You're utterly beautiful." Mycroft sighed, before dipping his head between Sherlock's legs.

Expecting a blowjob, the omega was caught off guard when his brother's tongue swiped across his entrance. Sherlock gasped, involuntarily grinding his hips into the attention as Mycroft busied himself with lapping desperately at his hole. Satisfied that he was well prepared for what was to come, Mycroft pulled away and began to unfasten his trousers. 

"Myke, hurry up." Sherlock whined, desperate for his brother's touch. Mycroft groaned, instinct beginning to take hold of his mental facilities. He pulled his trousers down around his thighs and lined himself up, too desperate to even strip properly. He thrust foreword, sheathing his cock in his mate's tight heat and eliciting a loud moan from the man beneath him.

Sherlock thrust back on to him, growing dizzy with lust. The smell of Alpha was driving him absolutely mad, and he was beginning to understand what Mycroft must have felt the night of their daughter's conception. He reached to tug at Mycroft's dampened locks with the intent of riling him up. Mycroft hissed in pain and sped up the pistoning of his hips, losing himself in the ecstasy. Making the mental note that Mycroft liked pain, Sherlock wrapped his legs around his hips, sinking down onto his knot. Mycroft gasped, his knot swelling to lock them together as he came.

Sherlock drew him close and sank his teeth into the sensitive flesh above his brother's scent glands, marking him as he himself had been marked on that fateful night 4 months ago . Mycroft's hips stuttered, his orgasm heightened by the pain and the rush of hormones as he was marked. Sherlock licked the wound as he pulled away, staring directly into his brother's cool grey eyes, so filled with surprise. It was almost unheard of for an omega to mark an alpha, but Sherlock was far from an average omega. Mycroft kissed him passionately, unbuttoning the last few buttons on his now ruined dress shirt.

He knotted his mate 3 more times that night before they collapsed breathlessly onto the couch. They settled under a blanket, Sherlock tucked underneath his elder brother's chin, and watched old reruns of their favourite true crime show, making a game of pointing out the flaws in the science. Mycroft still felt the dull ache of rut, but the worst was now over. He slipped his hand into Sherlock's, lacing their fingers together.

"Mycroft?" Sherlock said, tired voice barely a whisper.

"Yes, brother mine?"

"It's going to be alright."


	7. Chapter 7

The next morning, Sherlock gets the call. There's been a murder, and yes, it's connected to the Thatcher busts. The game is on. He buttons up his coat, perfectly concealing his growing baby bump, and leaves his brother a note on the coffee table. He won't be home for dinner. 

Stepping out into the street, he feels reborn. The lazy domestic side of him leaving to welcome back the vigilant sleuth. He arrives at the crime scene in minutes, John Watson at his heels. Lestrade runs down the murder, but the details fly over Sherlock's head. He's already planning his next move. A stakeout. He won't be home tonight.

Sherlock squats in the bushes, adrenaline pumping through him. His phone vibrates in his pocket. Mycroft is calling. He doesn't answer. Too busy. Sure enough, the culprit breaks in. Sherlock follows. A gun is pulled. It clatters to the ground in the struggle. They're crashing through the window, and he's landing. Hard. The wind is knocked out of him. His head is shoved into the pool. Held there. He nearly drowns.

He's pushing the assailant off of him. They're back in the house now. His coat has fallen open in the struggle. He doesn't notice. The assassin does, eyes fixed widely on the curve of his stomach as Sherlock shatters the bust. The black pearl should be there. But it's not. In its place sits a usb key, sickeningly familiar. One that should not exist. Sirens are wailing outside, but Sherlock is deaf to them. He's too lightheaded. Dizzy. Nauseous.

The assassin sends his regards to Mary Watson and disappears into the night as Sherlock loses his meager dinner into the nearby wastebasket. He slides the usb key into his pocket. The front door slams open and his brother comes running through, flanked by what looks to be the entirety of Scotland yard. Leave it to Mycroft to overreact. He's being folded against Mycroft's body, and kissed, and scented, and rocked. Somewhere, he is distantly aware of the looks they're getting. He can't bring himself to react to any of this. Mary is in danger. John is in danger. Rosie is in danger. 

Mycroft takes him home to scold him and make him tea.

"I can't _believe_ you, Sherlock." Mycroft began the lecture. "You could have _died_. Are you listening to me?"

Sherlock didn't respond. He slid the usb key towards his brother, expression vacant.

Mycroft wrinkled his nose in confusion. "What's this?"

"A usb key. I thought you were the smart one."

"I meant what is the _significance_ of it?" Mycroft asked, rolling his eyes

"It means that the Watsons are in danger."

"Sherlock, are you seriously going to go through with this case?"

"I must."

"But Sherlock, what about you? What about the baby? What about-" Mycroft's voice cracked. He cleared his throat and began again. "What about me, Sherlock?"

Sherlock slipped his hand into his mate's, squeezing it reassuringly. "You are still my mate, Mycroft. You are the father of my child, my dearest brother, and the love of my life. But I made a vow. And I intend to uphold it."

"Why won't you just let me help you?!" Mycroft snapped, clearly referring to more than just the case.

"Because that's not how it's done, Mycroft."

"You are _impossible_!" He spat, jerking his hand away and making to storm out of the room. 

"Myke! Wait!" Sherlock called suddenly, jogging across the room to him.

"What the _**hell**_ do you want?!"

Sherlock grabbed his hand and placed it low on his stomach. Mycroft gasped softly at the gentle thumping against his hand. It was sobering. Everything suddenly became real. In 5 months' time, they'd be parents. 

"She's been terribly active lately, but never when you're around. She particularly enjoys waiting until I'm comfortable and then punching me in the bladder." Sherlock said, smiling a little. Mycroft smiled back and then kissed him gently. 

"Don't make the mistake of thinking that you're off the hook, little brother. I'm still terribly cross with you." He said as he pulled away

"I wouldn't dream of it."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mr. And Mrs. Holmes are never mentioned in Canon, and therefore have no first names, so I just used Benedict's parents' names.

"Are you certain that we have to do this?" Sherlock asked for the third time. The couple stood outside their parents' front door, mentally preparing for the conversation that was to come. "We could just get back in the car and turn around."

"No, Sherlock. They're our parents. They deserve to know." Mycroft tutted before knocking on the door with the handle of his umbrella. Sherlock shifted in his coat to better hide his now obvious bump.

"Sherlock! Mycroft! And _together_ too! What a wonderful surprise!" Their mother cried upon opening the door. She pulled them into a group hug before ushering them inside.

"You didn't _tell_ them?!" Sherlock hissed into Mycroft's ear. 

"I thought it would be easier to break the news in person!" Mycroft whispered back

"You're a bloody idiot, and I hate you!"

"Well boys, don't just stand there, come on in! Take off your coats, stay a while!" Mrs. Holmes cut in. Accustomed to doing as they're told, both men removed their coats and put them on the coat rack.

"OH MY LORD!!" She screeched upon getting a look at her youngest's figure. "William Sherlock Scott Holmes! When did this happen?! TIMOTHY, GET IN HERE! When were you planning on telling me about this?!"

Sherlock blushed to the roots of his hair, glancing at his brother nervously. "Uh, well, this happened around 4 months ago. I was planning to surprise you with it!" He said with an enthusiastic (fake) smile.

"Oh Sherlock! Come! Sit down, I'm sure you must be exhausted." Mrs. Holmes cooed, herding her sons into the drawing room.

Minutes later, Sherlock and Mycroft sat across from their parents on a squishy red couch. Tea had been served, and a large plate of biscuits had been placed very deliberately out of Mycroft's reach. Wanda Holmes sat at the edge of her seat, interrogating Sherlock about her granddaughter, as her husband looked on with a proud smile. It was only a matter of time before the question was asked.

"So, Sherlock dear, tell me; who's the father? Which 'bloody idiot' did you finally settle on?" His mother asked excitedly.

"....That would be me." Mycroft confessed, taking a sip of his tea. It was the first time he'd spoken since they'd entered the house. 

Realization hit the Holmeses like a ton of bricks. Wanda sat back in her chair. There was a rather gravid pause before she spoke again. 

"I always knew this would happen." She sighed. "From the very moment I brought Sherlock home from hospital, you two were positively inseparable. Mycroft used to crawl into your crib every night around 2 am. " She said to Sherlock "In fact, you slept in the same bed until Myke went to uni. And when you presented as Alpha and Omega? Well I knew it was only a matter of time before..." she drew a deep breath "Well, before one of you caved. I'm just happy that my boys are happy again. It truly broke my heart to see you two fall apart."

"I-I'm sorry, are you serious? Is nobody surprised by this?" Sherlock stuttered

"No, not really son." Timothy Holmes spoke up. "Your mother and I actually had a bet going. She owes me two quid now- Sherlock will you please pass your brother a biscuit already? I'm tired of watching him agonizing over whether or not to ask for one."

Sherlock passed the plate to Mycroft, who took one and put the plate on the table. "Thank you." He said flatly. Sherlock placed a hand on his knee, no longer fearing his parents' judgment. He felt Mycroft relax under his touch.

"Boys, so long as you're happy and I'm getting a happy, healthy grandchild out of it, I honestly don't care. Speaking of which, Sherlock you're not still working are you?" Mrs. Holmes inquired

"As a matter of fact, he is. Just last week he had a gun pulled on him and nearly drowned in the same night. " Mycroft said, voice laced with disapproval. 

"Mycroft, don't tattle. Sherlock, what the hell?!" Mrs. Holmes scolded. "You are about to be a mother, you can't keep galavanting around putting yourself in danger!"

"Mummy, I do a very important job. I can't just up and quit, I'm in the middle of a case!" 

"Well I suppose you should hurry up and solve it then! Otherwise, you'll keep on going and before you know it, the baby will come and she won't have a crib or something silly like that. That's what happened with your eldest brother. I was too busy writing my book, and the poor dear had to sleep in a basket for the first week of his life. Besides that, what if you get hurt? Your poor brother would be inconsolable, not to mention your father and I."

Sherlock sighed, settling down for the next half hour. The only person who could lecture even remotely better than his mate was their mother. He leaned on Mycroft, resting his head on his shoulder, the two looking just like their photo on the mantel. Timothy Holmes smiled, quite pleased that his family was together again, even if it meant another hour long lecture on child rearing from his wife


	9. Chapter 9

Back in London, Sherlock felt like he could breathe again at last. He flopped onto the couch, still reeling from the talk of nursery themes and baby names and worst of all; the baby shower (to be held at their parents' house. 'Don't worry about a thing sweetheart'). He was utterly wiped and just ready for sleep 

Mycroft sat next to him with much more grace, and put an arm around his shoulders. "As much as i hate to admit it, you were right, Sherlock, that was an utterly terrible idea." He groaned, rubbing at his temples with his free hand.

"I told you it would be. Now I'm tired, and worried about the flat, and I still have to meet with Mary about the usb key. Oh god help me, I think I'm nesting." Sherlock complained, using Mycroft as a pillow. 

"What was that last bit?" The elder asked, his brow furrowing. Last time his little brother was in a situation like this with Mary Watson, he almost didn't come back alive. Mycroft was sure that Mary was a lovely woman, he just didn't trust her as far as he could throw her.

"Nesting? Developing the almost uncontrollable need to prepare your home for a child? 

"No, the part about my pregnant mate going to meet a trained assassin who has tried to kill him before, in a situation where he's certain to be in an isolated area where no one can hear him scream." Mycroft said, trying to disguise his fear with a condescending tone of voice. 

"Oh! _That_ bit. Yes, I need to let Mary know that someone is threatening her family." Sherlock responded casually. 

"Are you disregarding the fact that she could be a threat to _our_ family?"

"Of course not, brother mine. There's a tracking device in the usb key. One of yours. If she does anything and makes off with the key, you'll know. You'll also be able to know exactly where I am at all times, which I know you're ever so fond of, _big brother_." Sherlock smirked at his own literary allusion. Mycroft hated being compared to that book. 

"I detest that novel. Almost as much as I detest this plan of yours" Mycroft remark 

"You wanted to help. Now you're complaining about helping. Make up your damn mind."

"Fine. But if she so much as touches a hair on your head-"

"You'll leave her be. Because if anything happens to her, John will blame me, and if you ruin that friendship for me, I'll never forgive you. And you can't handle a broken heart." Sherlock said calmly "Checkmate, brother mine"

"Why did I ever teach you anything?"

"Human error. You can't stand to be alone, and I'm the only one remotely on your intellectual level. Papa was right, this _was_ inevitable."

"They're right, you know. You're so terribly cold, brother mine."

"You love me."

Mycroft smiled, rather proud of his brother for being clever enough to pin him like this. "Human error."


	10. Chapter 10

An hour later, Sherlock wishes that he had brought a blanket. The abandoned castle he'd decided they should meet at was cold and damp, and he was feeling chilled even through his thick coat. Mary arrives at midnight without fail.

"You really couldn't have waited?" She complains. "Rosie still isn't sleeping through the night, and I really value my sleep right now."

Sherlock tells her everything. The struggle, the busts, the assassin. And in return, Mary explains herself. She tells him about A.G.R.A. About the keys. About their betrayal. She thought she was the only one. She's destroyed to find out that her ex partner wants her dead. And then, the inevitable happens.

Sherlock hears her apologize, and then a sharp pain sears through his skull. He wakes up in Mycroft's lap, his brother shaking him back to consciousness. Mary is gone. The key is gone. Sherlock is bleeding. His head hurts. He just wants to go back to sleep, but Mycroft and John are arguing too loudly. 

"Mycroft, I'd appreciate it if you didn't insult my wife in front of our daughter!" John's raising his voice. 

"That _hussy_ you decided to wed attacked my brother unprovoked for a _second_ time. If I hadn't sworn off it, I'd hunt her down and _personally_ see to it that she never comes within a 5 kilometer radius of my family." Mycroft growled

"That implies that any of us _want_ to be within 5 kilometers of you."

"Both of you, shut up. You're acting like children and we're losing time. I'm disappointed in you, John. I taught you better." Sherlock snapped, getting to his feet. He was going to hurt later. 

"But he-"

"Is a creature fueled by emotion, who has an unhealthy obsession with me. You really shouldn't have expected anything less."

"I do _not_ have an unhealthy obsession with you, Sherlock."

"Shut up Myke, you've done enough speaking to last a lifetime." Sherlock hissed. "Mary's almost certainly on the run by now, and every moment we spend here is a moment closer to her discovering the tracking device and us losing her forever. Mycroft, take me home."

"Wait! Sherlock, what's going on? Where's Mary? Why won't anyone fill me in?" John asked desperately as Rosie cooed from the carrier on his front.

"Go home, John. I'm sure that Mary's left you a note that explains everything better than I ever could. Meanwhile, I intend to track down your wife" Sherlock dismissed him, allowing Mycroft to almost carry him to the car. 

The ride back to Baker street passed in silence. It wasn't until they were in the bathtub, Mycroft washing the blood out of Sherlock's hair, that the silence was broken.

"Sherlock, I really didn't appreciate you using psychoanalysis of myself to amuse your friend." Mycroft admitted. 

"I'm sorry, Myke. I didn't mean to let anyone in on the secret." Sherlock sighed 

"What secret?" Mycroft asked, brows furrowed 

"The fact that you're human."

"Goodness gracious, she must have hit you harder than I thought!" Mycroft exclaimed

"Why do you say that?" Sherlock asked 

"Because you never apologize." Mycroft said. "I apologize for my behavior as well. I had no intention of publicly embarrassing you. I suppose I should apologize to the Watsons as well."

"You really should."

"I love you, Sherlock." Mycroft said, kissing the top of his head. 

Sherlock took his hand, kissing his knuckles in response. "I love you too, Mycroft."

They shared a tender moment, before Sherlock spoke again. "What do you think of lilac?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Lilac. For the nursery. It's a very versatile color, especially for a girl's room. It'll save us money on repainting it when she's older."

"I wouldn't be opposed to lilac." Mycroft said "What brought that up?"

Sherlock moved Mycroft's hand over his stomach to where their daughter had begun kicking. "I had a reminder."


	11. Chapter 11

They've been tracking Mary for almost two months now. Sherlock was growing restless. She was moving, as she said, completely at random, so they had no way of knowing what move she'd make next. It made it terribly cumbersome to apprehend her. He stared at the blinking red dot on his laptop screen that had stilled at last and sighed, closing the lid. 

Rosie Watson played happily on the nursery floor. She'd just discovered the freedom of being able to roll, which made her a nightmare to babysit. Sherlock watched the baby as she rolled off of her mat and under the newly set up crib. He rolled his eyes, getting up to fish her out for the 3rd time in the past half hour.

"Rosamund, I've said it twice already and I don't intend to repeat myself any longer, if you don't want to be under the crib, then _don't roll there_ "

"Sherlock, you can't reason with an infant." Mycroft said from the doorway. "They don't understand. Just let her figure it out for herself, otherwise it'll become a game for her and you'll be like that for hours."

"When did you become the expert in childcare?" Sherlock said, glaring up at him from the carpet. 

"Oh, I'm no expert. However, making me retrieve things for you or rescue you from some precarious position you'd gotten yourself into was somewhat of a hobby of yours when you were that age." He explained with a grin, which soon faded to a thoughtful look. "Come to think of it, that's still your hobby, isn't it brother mine?"

"Oh shut up." Sherlock hissed, putting the baby back on the mat. She wasn't on her own for 5 seconds before she rolled back under the crib. Sherlock moved to retrieve her, but Mycroft raised a hand to stop him. 

"Leave her."

"Mycroft, she can't roll the other direction."

"She can, trust me. But she won't. Why would she? You'll just come help her every time she gets herself stuck. Watch."

Sherlock sat back down, fixing his brother with a skeptical glare. Sure enough, after some fussing Rosie rolled out from under the crib and back onto the play mat.

"You could've done that the whole time?!" Sherlock cried, exasperated.

"Of course! John has been sending you videos of it for ages now, you must've forgotten. Pregnancy _can_ cause forgetfulness, you know." Mycroft grinned

Sherlock threw his hands up in frustration. "Ugh! I'm so very done with this parasite leeching my intelligence! And I still have 3 MONTHS to go!!"

"Sherlock, please don't throw a tantrum. You'll give Rosie ideas." Mycroft said. He crossed the room, extending a hand to help his brother up. Reluctantly, Sherlock took it. He looked back at the child, who was once again playing happily on the floor. 

"Mycroft, do you think we'll be decent parents?" He asked, worry lacing his voice. 

"I really can't say, Sherlock. Although, Rosie is still alive, and she's been left in our care on numerous occasions over the last two months, so I'd say that's a good sign."

"We're John's absolute last resort, you know."

"I know."

"I think it's because he's still mad at you."

"Really? But I sent him a fruit basket!" Mycroft exclaimed, sounding quite hurt.

"You called his wife a hussy in front of their infant daughter. I don't think a fruit basket is going to fix everything." Sherlock said, rolling his eyes. 

"You're probably right." Mycroft sighed

"I'm definitely right."

A knock at the door interrupted their banter, and Mycroft went to answer it. Sherlock picked Rosie up and followed, figuring it was Dr. Watson come to retrieve his young. Sure enough, John was standing in the doorway glaring up at his mate. 

"Hello Mycroft. Don't you have some important government business to attend to?" He greeted dimly

"Not until this evening. I thought I'd dedicate some time to locating your wife and making sure my brother doesn't accidentally kill your daughter." Mycroft said with a half genuine smile 

"How considerate of you. Did Sherlock put you up to it? After all, why would you spend anytime looking for a... what were the words you used? Oh yes. _out of control hussy_ " John raised his voice 

"John, I've already apologized for that on numerous occasions. I acted purely on emotion with no regard for you or your family and I really am terribly sorry. Can't we just move on?"

"Mycroft, just give me my baby. I'd like to go home."

"...Of course." Mycroft said dejectedly, and went to retrieve the diaper bag from the nursery

Sherlock handed Rosie's carrier over to John, staring into his eyes with a cold glare. "He's trying, John. I'm telling you that because he never tries. So you should really take that into consideration when you decide to be an arse about this."

"Thank you for watching Rosie, Sherlock. Keep me updated on Mary." John said, avoiding the subject entirely.

"Alright then." Sherlock sighed, giving him the diaper bag and closing the door.

"That went well." Mycroft said sarcastically once the door had been closed.

"I hate both of you." Sherlock said half heartedly before sinking into his chair. 

"I know." Mycroft sighed. "I don't blame you. We're awful."

"Oh _please_ don't go all self loathing on me. Making your life miserable is my job, not yours." Sherlock teased.

"Oh yes. How could I forget?" Mycroft said, ruffling Sherlock's hair. 

They laughed, feeling okay again for the first time since Mary's disappearance. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a metaphor


	12. Chapter 12

Sherlock had managed to escape the hustle and bustle of his baby shower temporarily by excusing himself to the bathroom and (with some difficulty, considering his diameter) crawling out the window. He sat in the garden, crushing his mother's gardenias and took a deep breath. He hated social gatherings, especially if they centered around him. Finally free from the questions and the touching and the horrible party games, he pulled out his phone and started up his gps. Mary was in Morocco now. That was where they'd intercept her. He'd purchased his and John's tickets this evening, and made sure that Molly was available to babysit. They'd leave the party and go straight to the airpo-

"Sherlock? What on earth are you doing out here? You're missing the party!" His mother called, rounding the corner to the back of the house where Sherlock sat. "Good heavens! What are you doing to my poor gardenias?!"

Damn. He'd been found. "Last I checked, I was sitting in them." He responded in reference to the flowers, not bothering to look up from his phone.

"Well would you please get out of my flowerbed and open your presents?" She pleaded, extending a hand to help him up. 

"I think I'll pass." They hadn't had this argument since Sherlock's 10th birthday. 

"Please Sherlock? I spent so much time putting this together and I'd really appreciate it if you'd at least play along. Besides, even Myke is enjoying himself." 

"Mummy, I can assure you that the only thing Mycroft is enjoying is the buffet table. Besides, I didn't ask you to throw me a baby shower. In fact, I very distinctly remember telling you the very opposite."

"Well excuse me for being excited! It's not every day I get told that I'm going to be a grandmother!" Mrs. Holmes huffed, turning around and heading back inside. She passed Mycroft on the way in, and grabbed him by the shoulder. "You go talk some sense into him. He's _your_ mate. And get him out of my flowers."

Mycroft sighed, resigning himself to his task, and stepped out the back door. "Sherlock?" He called, rounding the corner of the house to the flower beds where he knew he'd find his younger brother. Sure enough, Sherlock was scowling in a bed of gardenias, looking rather childish. "Are you done assaulting those poor flowers yet?"

"Mummy sent you to fetch me, didn't she?" Sherlock said dimly. 

"Well, yes. But I was already on my way out." Mycroft explained "You really ought to come inside. You're causing a scene."

"I don't care."

"You never do." Mycroft sighed, squatting down to be on eye level. "Please don't make me drag you. These are my favorite pair of trousers and I would hate to get grass stains on them."

They locked eyes, silently arguing for a moment before Sherlock caved. He struggled to his feet, dusting the dirt off of his own trousers. Mycroft put an arm around his waist, pulling him closer.

"I'm not very happy with this either, you know. I detest family gatherings." Mycroft added in an attempt at sympathy. 

"You seemed plenty happy to sit at the buffet table stuffing yourself while everyone else was pawing at me." Sherlock snapped back.

Mycroft stopped them in their tracks, fixing his mate with a confused stare. "Pawing?" 

"Yes, Mycroft. Pawing. I can hardly set foot in there without someone _putting their hands on me._ " Sherlock said with disgust 

"You should have said something. That is quite an easy problem to remedy." Mycroft growled. Something quite primal couldn't bear the thought of other people touching his mate. He pulled Sherlock into an embrace, using their proximity as an excuse to scent him. "There. Now everyone within close proximity will be reminded of the fact that you are mine, and should they lay hands on you they will sorely regret it." He said, smiling briefly continuing to walk them towards the back door.

Sherlock would never admit it, but he adored his brother. He always had. "Thank you." He said briskly. 

Mycroft paused again. Sherlock never thanked him for anything. At least, not genuinely. This whole ordeal had brought out a gentler side of the spitfire omega. A side that Mycroft was unaccustomed to, but not opposed to. "You're welcome."

Minutes later, Sherlock was sitting in the middle of a pile of gifts nearly as large as himself. As much as he was loathe to admit it, his mother was right. This was indeed the best part of the whole shower. He unwrapped piles of things he never even knew he wanted.

"Who's Elizabeth?" Their father asked from where he'd been passing down packages. 

"Oh my goodness! I hadn't realized she was serious!" Mycroft exclaimed from behind Sherlock, beginning to blush.

Sherlock looked up at him quizzically. "Elizabeth?"

"The second. Our reigning monarch. We have tea occasionally. The last time we did, she said that she couldn't make the shower so she was sending us a package." He explained "I didn't actually think she would."

"Oh my goodness! Imagine that! The Queen of England sending _my_ boys a gift! Myke, why didn't you mention that you were friends with the Queen?!" Mrs. Holmes gasped

"I don't make a habit of mixing business and personal affairs." Mycroft said hurriedly.

"Okay, well I'm opening it now." Sherlock interrupted, tearing the paper from the box. Inside was a baby blanket, a string of pearls, and a note. Sherlock picked up the note and read it.

_Mycroft,_

_Congratulations! You're becoming a parent. Your whole world is about to be flipped on its head. Knowing you, I'm quite certain you'll be fine. My deepest apologies yet again for not being able to make the baby shower. I hope that you enjoy the present in spite of that. Those pearls were mine as a girl, and I could think of no one more qualified to receive them than your family. The blanket is car seat sized. It's a bit more suitable for an infant than jewelry._

_Best wishes,_

_Elizabeth_

_P.S. If Kate asks, you know nothing about the pearls._

Mycroft smiled as he read the note. This was one of the most thoughtful things that had ever been done for him. He was suddenly very happy with his choice of career. He'd thank Elizabeth personally next time he was invited to tea. 

Soon enough, the party ended and the Holmes brothers were on the way to the airport. They were meeting John there, as he'd elected not to attend the shower(a decision Sherlock was intensely envious of.) They rode in silence, absentmindedly holding hands. Mycroft fondled the handle of his umbrella anxiously. He didn't like the idea of Sherlock rushing off to Morocco at a moment's notice, but he knew that there was nothing else to be done. If Mary Watson was half the woman he thought she was, the only way to get her back would be to drag her. It didn't make it any easier. The car pulled up to the airport, and they got out. Mycroft pulled Sherlock into a hug, clinging to him for dear life. As he went to pull away, Sherlock grabbed him by the tie and kissed him deeply. They were causing a scene. He didn't care.

"Come home soon, and in one piece please." Mycroft said, worry permeating his voice.

"I will Myke. I promise." Sherlock whispered. He turned, grabbing his suitcase and walking into the airport.

Mycroft watched him go, his hand on his phone, whose gps was already tracking his little brother. He sighed and got back in the car, heading towards home.


	13. Chapter 13

Mary is safe. She's dyed her hair, and donned the regional apparel, but she's safe. Sherlock breathes a sigh of relief at the sight of her. They greet enthusiastically. He reunites her with her husband, and reminds her of his promise to protect them. They laugh. Their joy is short lived.

Ajay has caught up with them. Bullets zing through the room. They pull their weapons. Ajay is hit. He tells his story. He tells he was tortured, how another dies, and how every day he was told it was the English woman's fault. Mary is hurt and confused. She definitely didn't do this. She would never compromise a mission. Ajay dies blaming her. John comforts her, and Sherlock calls his brother. 

Mycroft has a private jet there in record time. They pile in and head back to London. Back home. Mary and John have a long talk about their relationship. Sherlock curls up against Mycroft and falls asleep.

They land, and go thier separate ways. Mycroft takes Sherlock home and straight to bed. For once, Sherlock doesn't argue. He slides under the sheets (satin now. Mycroft's touch) and sighs, exhausted. 

"Sherlock? Are you still awake? I made tea." Mycroft called softly. He pushed into the room carrying a tea tray. 

"Yeah." Sherlock groaned, lifting himself to an upright position 

Mycroft set the tray on the bedside table and sat on the edge of the bed. "How was Morocco?" He asked, an attempt at small talk. 

"Significantly warmer. Why are we making small talk?" Sherlock said impatiently. 

"Because it's better than the alternative conversation."

"What conversation?"

"Your maternity leave."

"I'm not taking a maternity leave."

"I know. That's the problem."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and reached for his cup of tea. "What's the problem?" He asked, knowing full well what the answer would be. They'd only been fighting about it since this whole thing began. 

"You're 7 months pregnant and getting shot at. It's time to stop." Mycroft said sternly 

"I know."

"I won't hear it Sherlock! I'm sick and tired of- wait. What did you just say?"

"I said 'I know'. It's time to stop. I need personal time. I'm conceding it."

Mycroft blinked a moment, shocked by his mate's admission. "Well, yes. Yes you do. I was expecting this to be a struggle."

" _But_ "

"HA. I knew there was a catch. Out with it then." Mycroft said smugly. 

"Not until I'm done with this case."

"Sherlock." Mycroft sighed 

"Mycroft, if I don't finish this, more people could die."

"And if you do, you could die."

"Yes."

Mycroft got into the bed properly, laying down with his back towards his brother. He didn't even react when Sherlock moved to spoon him. Sherlock nuzzled his neck, looking for his mark. He kissed it, remembering fondly the circumstances under which his big brother had received it and smiled to himself when he felt Mycroft relax in his arms. 

"Mycroft?"

"Yes?"

"Aren't you going to press this?"

"No. Why bother? You don't care about your life or my feelings about it and you never will." Mycroft snapped. 

"That's not true."

"Isn't it though?" Mycroft rolled over, looking Sherlock in the eyes. 

"I care very much about you. I know that my death would utterly destroy you, and so I do try and avoid it." He responded, cupping Mycroft's face in his hands.

"I love you, Sherlock. If I lost you, I really don't know what I'd do." He sighed.

"I love you too, Myke. And I'll be careful. I promise you, I'll do everything within my power to avoid leaving you a widower." Sherlock swore, kissing him gently. He pulled away, and tucked his head under Mycroft's chin. They'd slept like that since they were very young.

"Alright then, Sherlock. I suppose that's the best I can hope for."

"Are we done fighting about this now?"

"Yes. I think we are."

"Good. I'm too tired to continue my argument."

They fell asleep shortly afterward, both feeling better about the future.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst starts this chapter. Things are gonna be sad for a while, but it has a happy ending I promise.

Sherlock winced, breathing through the pain. Braxton-Hicks contractions were extremely cumbersome, he'd decided. Although it was a great way to incite a panic in his brother. The first time he'd experienced the false contractions had both of them rushing to the hospital in record speed, and the whole nursing staff snickering at them. That was good fun, but now, when he was about to catch the culprit, was not a good time.

He walks through the silent aquarium, deciding that a family trip here would be nice, in time. And then, Sherlock spots his guy. Er, woman to be precise. The small, meek secretary who had betrayed AGRA so many years ago. He feels the thrill of knowing he was closing another case, along with the relief of knowing that after another month of chasing, he'd finally be able to take some time off. 

They greet, and he tells her she's caught, and she tells him everything. Mary shows up right on schedule. The police have been called. John is on his way. It's very standard.

And then it isn't. 

"Maybe I can still surprise you, Mr. Holmes " The secretary says, and suddenly Sherlock is staring down the barrel of a gun.

He says a brief apology to Mycroft, preparing himself for a gut shot that would surely prove fatal. It never comes. Mary has jumped in front of him, shielding him from the bullet. As she hits the ground, John Watson arrives. He's on her in a second, applying pressure to the wound. Sherlock's contractions continue, but he's in too much shock to acknowledge them. Mary is dying. She gave her life for him. He doesn't know what to do with that.

"Did I tell you that I like you?" She says, fading fast. 

"Yes. Yes you did." Sherlock responds, crying properly now. He can hear the sirens. The police have arrived, most assuredly with an ambulance, but it's too late. Mary has gone limp in John's arms.

Sherlock can't bring himself to do anything but stand there and cry. Mycroft has arrived predictably at the same time as the police. His heart sinks at the image laid before him, and he rushes to put his arms around his mate. Sherlock seems to be somewhere else. He offers no reaction to the affection, and even more concerningly, no reaction when his water breaks moments later. 

He's taken to the hospital, where after 8 hours of labor, their daughter is born. Sherlock is still in shock, so the nurses quietly pass the birth certificate to his mate. Mycroft names her after one of their closest friends, and Mary Corliss Holmes is taken to the nursery in solemn silence.

In their hospital room, Mycroft pulled out the guest bed in the sofa, placed specifically for worried spouses to be able to spend the night. Sherlock was finally sleeping, so Mycroft allowed himself to relax slightly. He rarely panics in the moment, only allowing it to take over when he's no longer needed. He sat on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands and cried.

"You were right." Sherlock said weakly from the hospital bed. Mycroft was startled by his voice, having previously thought him asleep. 

"I didn't want to be." He responded, voice breaking.

"This is my fault. I should have listened to you."

"It's not your fault, Sherlock. You didn't pull the trigger and you didn't ask Mary to jump in front of the bullet."

"Didn't I though? I mean, John certainly thinks so. I got too cocky. Too careless. I didn't keep my vow. I let them down, and now Mary's dead because of it." Sherlock's voice cracks, tears streaming down his face again.

"Sherlock, this isn't your fault. It was an accident, and if John Watson is going to blame you for it, he can go fuck himself."

Sherlock sniffed, looking at his brother with teary eyes. Mycroft's heart breaks, and he moves to the hospital bed, curling around his mate protectively. He kissed his forehead, running his hands through his dark curls. "Please don't blame yourself for this, Sherly." Mycroft whispered, using the nickname he hadn't said since they were very young.

Sherlock nuzzled into Mycroft's chest. This was supposed to be a happy occasion. He sighed. "What did you name her?' He asked softly. 

"Mary. Mary Corliss Holmes." Mycroft responded 

"That's a wonderful name." Sherlock says with a smile. 

When the night nurse comes to check Sherlock's vitals, she finds them curled up like that. She sighs. Technically, she's not supposed to allow this, but considering what the young couple has been through, she takes Sherlock's blood pressure, temperature and pulse, and leaves the room without saying a word 


	15. Chapter 15

Corri, as they've decided to call their daughter, is the picture of health. She's small, but already showing signs of rapid development, holding her head up by herself before they leave the hospital. The first thing Sherlock remarks on is that she's an amalgamation of recessive genes. Unlike Rosie, she's not born bald, but instead with curly locks of flaming red hair. Her eyes are the same ice blue as both of her parents, and she was blessed with Sherlock's nose and perfect little cupid's bow. Her parents are in agreement; she's a truly remarkable child.

Mycroft is extrodinarily worried about Sherlock. He's definitely depressed, but considering the circumstances, Mycroft can't tell if it's postpartum depression or depression depression. Drug relapse is the immediate concern, but Mycroft has faith that his brother wouldn't dare so long as he's partly responsible for the survival of an infant. They were sent home that day, both incredibly relieved.

"Have you heard from John?" Mycroft asks on the way back to Baker street. He knew it was a dangerous question, but if John were any sort of friend he might have at least inquired about Sherlock's wellbeing. 

"Of course not. He thinks I killed his wife." Sherlock snapped. 

"You didn't kill his wife." Mycroft said, a protective tone coloring his voice.

"He's grieving."

"So are you."

They made eye contact over the car seat. Sherlock was impressed that Mycroft's driver had managed to wedge it so perfectly in the middle seat. He changed the subject. 

"Do you think she'll like the nursery?"

"Well, until she can see further than a few centimeters, I don’t think she's qualified to pass judgement. Why won't you admit it?" Mycroft changed it back. 

"You have a point. I think she'll enjoy the mobile, however. I read somewhere that newborns find black and white incredibly stimulating, especially in patterns."

"Sherlock. Why won't you admit that you're grieving?" Mycroft pressed. His voice is firm, demanding answers. 

"Because I don't have the right to. There, you have your answer. I'm not elaborating, so don't ask, and don't put me in therapy. It never works." Sherlock caved.

"Alright then." Mycroft sighed 

They passed the rest of the drive in silence, save for the sound of their newborn's sleepy breathing. When they arrived, Sherlock leaned into the car seat to (pointlessly) brief Corri on Mrs. Hudson 

"She's quite alright. Got a big heart. But very overbearing. You'll be fine." He says to the sleeping infant. She snorts in response.

Mycroft lifted the car seat out of the car (it was surprisingly heavy, considering the size human it carried) and made his way to the front door where Mrs. Hudson was already embracing his little brother. Ushering the new parents inside, she peeks into the baby carrier.

"Aw, well would you look at that! She certainly got your hair color." She says to him "What did you two name her?"

"Mary Corliss Holmes. Corri for short." Sherlock calls from the top of the stairs before Mycroft has a chance to anwer her.

"Oh Sherlock! That's wonderful, naming her after Mary." Mrs. Hudson sighed, following them up the stairs a bit. 

"Actually, Mycroft named her." Sherlock explained "I was incapacitated."

"Well that's very sweet of you." She directed at Mycroft "You boys need any help settling in?"

"We're quite alright, thank you." He said politely, moving around her to start his way up the stairs. 

"Well if you need anything, don't be afraid to ask!" She called. 

"We won't." They said in unison, reatreating to the flat.

Sherlock sighed, flopping into his chair. He had been through a lot, and there was something blissfully soothing about being home.Mycroft emerged from the nursery minutes later, rubbing his shoulder in pain.

"Do I need to put you to bed too?" He said, looking at his mate who was slowly falling asleep in his armchair. 

"Yes." Sherlock responded, holding his arms out as if expecting to be carried. 

"I'm not going to pick you up. One of us needs to be able to carry the carseat." 

"I carried your young, it's the least you could do in return" he whined, giving Mycroft his best puppy dog eyes. 

With a roll of his eyes, Mycroft gave in. He lifted Sherlock out of the chair and started towards the bedroom. "Sherlock Holmes, you'll be the death of me." He whispered, laying Sherlock on the bed. He went to get up, maybe put the kettle on or hang his jacket up, but was stopped by a hand around his wrist. 

"Stay. We have another 20 minutes before the baby wakes up, and I'd like to spend them with you." 

Mycroft opened his mouth to argue, and then promptly shut it upon realizing that he had no argument. He kicked off his shoes and crawled into the bed next to Sherlock, who cuddled into his chest and fell asleep almost immediately. Mycroft remained awake, fueled by worry for his brother and the knowledge that their daughter would be awake soon.

It was unusual for Sherlock to be this docile, this submissive. It didn't feel right. In fact, this whole ordeal was overshadowed by a dark sense of foreboding that settled uneasily in Mycroft's gut. But for the time being, he chose to ignore it in favor of enjoying his paternity leave. When Corri finally fussed, Mycroft gently moved out from under Sherlock to take care of her. He looked so peaceful that Mycroft couldn't bear to move him. Not when he knew how upset he really was. He tucked his brother in, and made his way to the nursery. 


	16. Chapter 16

The day he finds it, his heart breaks into a thousand pieces. Mycroft thought that they'd been fine. He thought that they had moved beyond this. He had foolishly assumed that with a mate and child to care for, Sherlock might not bore so easily. And yet, there it was. Cleverly stashed underneath the boudoir is a little bag of white powder. Cocaine, assuredly. He pocketed the drug, a combination of hurt and disgust gripping the shattered remains of his heart.

Mycroft put the vacuum back in its place in the hall closet, any hopes of finishing the cleaning long gone, and allowed himself to hope that this was left over from earlier. That maybe his men had missed something in their sweep. Corri cried from the nursery, having been roused from her nap by the hall closet slamming. Mycroft sighed and ducked into the room, putting on a good face for the child. 

"Hello sweetheart! Did I wake you? I'm terribly sorry. I know you're busy trying to develop into a fully functional human being in here, it was rude of me to interrupt." He cooed, lifting her from the crib. "Shhh. It's alright now. Papa's here."

Mycroft ran down the list of infant needs, diapering, feeding, and eventually putting her back in her crib. He wound up the mobile, and she was instantly entertained. Sherlock was right about the mobile. She absolutely loved it. 

"How's our little girl?" Sherlock asked from the doorway, having apparently returned from doing the shopping.

Mycroft stiffened at his voice. He put up his defenses immediately, his gaze turning to ice. "She's well." He said briskly 

Sherlock feels the tension in the room. He knows that voice all too well. He was in trouble, and a lot of it. "Myke? What's wrong?" He asked worriedly. 

"Let's not do this here." Mycroft responded, walking slowly to the door. For every step he took foreward Sherlock took one back. This continued until Sherlock hit the wall and Mycroft was closing the door. "Let's adjourn to the living room shall we brother mine?"

Sherlock followed his big brother with his tail tucked between his legs. He hated this. He hated being unable to read Mycroft, unable to figure out what he was in trouble for, unable to figure out a way around it. When they got to the living room, Mycroft threw a plastic bag at his feet and suddenly, everything fell into place. "Care to explain?" Mycroft probed in the same terrifyingly even tone.

Sherlock fell silent, unsure how to approach the situation in front of him. He was treading on very thin ice and he knew it. "I'm serious, Sherlock. Do you want to explain to me how this got to be under the boudoir? Or should I just assume that as usual, my own reasoning is correct?" Mycroft asked. He recived no response. "God _damn_ it." Mycroft's facade weakened slightly as he collapsed into John's chair with his head in his hands. Several minutes passed in heavy silence before Sherlock spoke.

"Myke, are you-"

"Do I look okay, Sherlock? I'm half certain you have a brain in there, drug addled though it may be, now for once in your miserable life _use it_. I thought we were enough. I thought that maybe now that I've given in to this relationship, maybe now that we have a daughter who _depends_ on you, that it could finally be enough. That you could turn your sorry little life around. And then I find this. So tell me, Sherlock, do I BLOODY LOOK OKAY TO YOU?!" Mycroft was yelling at this point. Tears had begun to well up in his eyes. Sherlock was utterly horrified. He'd never done anything to upset Mycroft this badly before. 

"Mycroft please lis-"

"No, Sherlock. I'm done listening. All I do is listen and the story never changes. We've got a child to think about now. Did that even cross your mind? It was fine when it was just me that you were hurting, but I won't let you hurt her too. I think we're done here, Sherlock." Mycroft made for the bedroom at a brisk walk, Sherlock following on his heels

"Mycroft wait!" Sherlock gasped. He was losing him again. It was like when he went off to uni, only worse.

Mycroft didn't respond. He pulled a suitcase out from under the bed and began packing his things. He didn't even bother to fold them. 

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked urgently 

"What I should have done a long time ago; I'm leaving, Sherlock. And this time I'm not coming back." Mycroft said

"Mycroft. Mycroft please don't." Sherlock said, beginning to tear up himself. 

"Oh go fuck yourself." Mycroft hissed, zipping up his suitcase and making for the nursery.

"No! Mycroft you can't do this to me. You're all I have left. You and Corliss."

"Come now brother mine, I'm sure you'll be fine with your old friend addiction." Tears were streaming down both of their faces as Mycroft packed up the diaper bag. He shot his driver a text, telling him to meet at Baker street as soon as possible. "I'm taking Corliss. I'll put her in daycare with Rosie, and you'll sit here in your drugged stupor and think of why you're alone. Don't even try to battle me for custody, you know I'll win." He strapped the baby into her carseat. Corri added her tears to those of her parents, crying loudly as Mycroft picked up their bags and made his way back to the front door.

In a last ditch attempt to save his relationship, Sherlock sank to his knees, pleading. "Mycroft...please don't leave me."

Mycroft turned, meeting his eyes with a fiery gaze. "Goodbye, Sherlock. I hope you're proud of yourself." He said calmly, but the tears rolling down his face betrayed his icey facade. He slammed the door, stomping down the stairs and out the door pushing past a concerned Mrs. Hudson. His driver met him at the corner, and with that, he was gone. 

Sherlock watched the car until it was out of sight. He had done it. He was truly alone now. He went to the nursery, curled up on the floor and cried himself to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the Holmescest equivalent to "Burn" from Hamilton.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: chicks with dicks.
> 
> Also adultery
> 
> Also divergence from the main ship. 
> 
> Mistakes are made.

The first night was the hardest. Mycroft was not terribly unused to being the only parent, but it had been quite some time since he was 7 years old and doing midnight feedings as a "favor" to his mother. No, it wasn't the parenting aspect that was hard, it was the separation. Mycroft was willing to admit, even three weeks later, he was incredibly lonely.

Corliss cried from the room across the hall, her wails echoing across his home in a way they hadn't been able to in the compact Baker street flat. He got out of bed and stumbled to the temporary little nursery he'd made up. Upon trial, he found nothing to actually be amiss with the infant. She didn't want food or need diapering, and it was certainly too late for her to be ready to engage in any sort of play activity. Instinctively, he tucked her head under his chin and began to sway, humming part of a lullaby he'd long since forgotten. In doing so, he was reminded of his childhood once more, and of all the years Sherlock spent tucked up against him just like this. Corri's crying had waned a little, now only small sniffs and hiccoughs. 

"I know darling. I miss him too." Mycroft sighed "I know the books warn against it, but to hell with it all." He added, carrying her across the hall back to his bedroom. He laid her down in the sheets and curled around her, her head tucked neatly under his chin. She grabbed his finger with her entire hand, and for the first time in her small life slept through the night.

Daycare is harder. Corri cries every time she's handed off to the nursery attendants, and it breaks his heart every time. No matter how many times he assures her that he'll be back in the evening, it's still difficult to leave her. Now that she's all he has left. Molly Hooper, he notices, is always the one dropping Rosie off in the mornings and picking her up again in the evening. They pass each other, and neither one says anything, but both let their suspicions do the talking.

One day, Molly breaks the silence.

"Er, Mycroft?" She began nervously "I'm sorry to bother you but Sherlock...is he?" She trailed off and it said enough. 

"Yes. Yes he is." He admitted "And John? Are you just picking up and dropping off or..."

"No. No. He's sort of...left her with me." She sighed. They shared a moment of silent understanding before Mycroft spoke again 

"Would you like a ride?" He asked, gesturing towards his car 

She thinks about it for a moment before agreeing. Soon, this became routine for them. Morning carpools turned into dinners, turned into lengthy playdates, turned into Molly having her own room in Mycroft's house. Everyone who didn't know that Molly was an alpha assumed that they were fast becoming an item, and even some of those who did were suspicious. Mycroft himself didn't know anymore. It was very rare for two alphas to take on a relationship, but not unheard of, and as they grew closer Mycroft began to worry about his mark; a token from his baby brother. Every time his thoughts drifted to his new housemate, his hand involuntarily reached towards it, as if reminding him that somehow, he still belonged to someone else.

Molly stood in a long t shirt and underwear fixing their mismatched little family pancakes when Mycroft finally decided to take the chance. He put his arms around her waist and nuzzled her neck, noting how different from Sherlock she smelled. He was surprised when he was met with Molly pressing into him and intwining her fingers in his hair. He kisses down the length of her neck experimentally, and her grip tightens in his hair. Suddenly, she turned the tables on him, flipping them around and pinning him to the counter.

"We should really wait until we drop the kids off, don't you think?" Molly asked, ignoring her own display of dominance. 

"You're right." He panted.

"I know I am."

After a very brief, slightly awkward breakfast they dropped the babies at nursery school and both called in to work. They fought for dominance, both earning several scratches and hickeys in the process, but Molly, being stronger and younger, eventually won out. And she had him on almost every surface in the house before they made it to the bed, panting and sticky and both very confused. 

Molly laid pressed against him, looking at his mark and feeling insanely guilty about the whole ordeal. She traced along it with her fingers, making Mycroft wince a little as the memories came flooding back. 

"This was a mistake." He sighed, pressing a kiss to her forehead. 

"Yeah." She conceded "But it was a fun one, at least. I understand, by the way. I'm not really over him either, to be frank."

"What would he say..."

"He'd call you a tart."

"Probably. I'm not sure he'd be wrong. "

"I'm sorry about this, Mycroft."

"Why? I initiated this."

"Yes" she said, getting out of bed "but I finished it." She left then. Went back to her apartment and agreed not to speak of what transpired. And just like that, he was alone again and guiltier than ever.

He picked up his phone and typed out a message to Sherlock. He wrote down everything that happened, how lonely he was, how terrible he felt, how much he wanted to run to him. Mycroft almost hit send. Instead, he deleted it and stepped into the shower, trying to wash away the remains of his sin. That's when his phone went off. It was Molly. He answered it reluctantly. 

"Hello?" He sighed 

Molly is in tears on the other end of the line. "Mycroft, it's Sherlock. He's gotten worse. So much worse. I've never seen him like this. I'm afraid at the rate he's going, he's only got a few weeks." 

He dropped the phone in shock. Enough is enough, he decided. Tonight, he would stop by. He'd be the hero again, and pull his brother safely out of death's grasp once more. He picked up the phone from the floor, apologized to Molly and hung up. He had a few hours to get everything ready. He only hoped he'd get there in time


	18. Chapter 18

After being stuffed into the boot of a car, medically examined by two professionals, and dismissed ny nearly everyone around him, It was fair to say that Sherlock Holmes has had a shitty day. He ignores the phone buzzing in his pocket in favor of telling John of his adventures and how he came to be here. Everything is happening so fast, that he's not sure if it's real or just a drugged hallucination. 

Culverton Smith sends a car. He and John pile in it and drive off. Sherlock looks in the rearview in time to see his brother pull up and get out of the car, their daughter in a carrier on his chest. The image twists like a knife in Sherlock's gut, and he faces his eyes foreward, concentrating on the task placed before him. 

"I'm a _cereal_ killer" Smith finishes, a wicked smile on his face. Sherlock's stomach turns. He doesn't know what sickens him more, Smith's entire being or John's cold shoulder. But he presses on. He must. He couldn't break this promise. Smith invites him to the hospital to talk to the children. He accepts. He has no choice.

They arrive and Sherlock does his best to appear sober. To appear contained and practical and appropriate. But John's disgusted with the whole ordeal, and every gaunt child reminds him of how he failed his own, and then, then Smith has the gall to mock him. He gives his answers accurately and objectively, knowing that he's backed himself into a corner. Perfect. Smith asks if he can show them to his favorite room. Sherlock accepts hastily.

They're in the morgue, just as Sherlock expected. Faith should be here any moment and then the case will be closed and he and John can be friends again and everything can go back to normal. Except that the woman who comes isn't the one he knows as Faith Smith. His head is spinning, he no longer knows what is real. He picks up a scalpel and makes to stab Culverton Smith, just to be sure. John stops him. John beats the shit out of him and he just lies back and takes it. Smith tries to stop him, but Sherlock interjects.

"He's got every right. I killed his wife." He chokes out 

That night, he's admitted to Smith's hospital, and he knows that this is the end. He's full of so many regrets, Mary, John, Mycroft, Corliss, but he'll never get to make amends. Smith comes in through a panel in the wall, ups his drug solution, and goes to strangle him. But not before making him beg for his life. Sherlock wants more than anything to live, but he can't take it back now. He has to do this. He promised. He struggles as Smith's hands close around his windpipe. Just when he's given up on him, John bursts through the door, tearing Smith away and immediately running to Sherlock's aide. They've got a lot of catching up to do.

They're back at Baker street, sitting in near silence. John opens up first. He tells Sherlock everything. How terrible he's felt, how he cheated on Mary, how he wasn't as good as she thought him. He wept, and Sherlock held him close. It truly hurt him to see John suffer so. He too bared all. He told John about the nasty break up, and the drugs, and how lost he'd become without them all. He wished they could stay like this, but John had an appointment with his therapist. As he went to leave, Sherlock's text tone went off. John looked at him quizzically. 

"Don't you have an appointment to be at?" Sherlock said teasingly 

"Yeah, I do. See you, Sherlock." John smiled, walking down the stairs. 

As soon as he was gone, Sherlock pounced on his phone, eagerly checking his messages. 

**Sherlock. I saw the video. I think we ought to have a chat. Dinner? -MH**

He smiled, his heart filled with relief as he typed his reply. 

**Certainly. How about the cafe down the road in 15 minutes? -SH**

**Sounds lovely. - MH**


	19. Chapter 19

Sherlock was five minutes late by intention. It was a sort of punishment for the hell he'd been put through. He had every intention of steeling himself, putting up mask and making Mycroft grovel for his forgiveness, but all that was forgotten when he saw his mate leaning against a lamp post outside the café, apparently about to call him. Sherlock found himself breaking into a run embracing his brother with almost enough force to knock both of them onto the pavement. Mycroft clung to him like cellophane, a primal expression of emotional need that he hadn't been brought to do for a long time. Sherlock was the first to pull away.

"You've cheated on me?" Sherlock asked, more confused than hurt.

"Technically speaking, no. We were not romantically entangled at the time-" 

"So yes. There's really no sense in trying to weasel your way out of this, There's a bite mark the size of the moon on your neck, and whoever it was scented you quite thoroughly. It was as if they were trying to claim you, but didn't have the heart to go through with it, so obviously someone close to me and incredibly lonely. Scent and size of bite mark tells me that it was another alpha. That leaves me with two options, and I'm inclined to say that it was Inspector Lestrade, being as you're quite gay." Sherlock stood back, proud in his assessment and confident in his deduction.

"Very good, but as usual incorrect. Firstly, I am not gay, I simply tend to favor men. I do dabble in affairs with the opposite sex. And second, it wasn't Lestrade." Mycroft replied cooly. It was a game of deductions now.

"Once you've eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable must be the truth, which means, brother mine, that you have been playing thread the needle with Molly Hooper." Sherlock said with a laugh. "Oh my _god_ this is hilarious!"

"Forgive me for pushing the envelope, but shouldn't this bother you?" Mycroft was very confused 

"Oh, I'm upset, but the need to investigate is winning out. What perplexes me is the fact that you manged to get Molly Hooper in bed. What happened? Did she decide to see if the other Holmes brother was more fun?" Sherlock spat 

"This really isn't what I had in mind when I said that I wanted to talk to you, but I suppose I do owe it to you. Since neither you nor John could seem to be functioning parents, Molly and I bonded over suddenly finding ourselves single parents. We formed a small yet functional family unit based on the mutual need of help, and it utterly fell through when we tried to incorporate sex into it. Now can we at least go inside? I'm famished."

"After you answer me one question."

"And what would that be?"

"Are you still a virgin or..."

"Oh my g- Change the subject. Now." Mycroft sputtered, turning bright red

"So that's a 'no' then. Damn, I was going to do that. Anyway, you promised me dinner, so shall we?" Sherlock offered his hand to his brother, who took it cautiously, and strolled into the restaurant as if they hadn't just been talking about sex in the middle of a busy street.

They were quickly seated and barely had time to order before Mycroft began to tear into his little brother. He justified this dramatic and abrupt transition with the callousness that Sherlock had just previously put upon him.

"So. The drugs, the Culverton Smith ordeal, nearly dying, all of that was for Mary Watson?"

"Yes." Sherlock answered before taking a sip of the wine he'd ordered for them. 

"Goodness, even in death that woman finds a way to disrupt my domestic life." Mycroft chuckled "You could have at least warned me before going off the deep end."

"I couldn't take that risk. After all, what if you had told John?"

"Please Sherlock. I'm not known to interact with your friends except when the situation calls for it."

"Really? I'm sure that Dr. Hooper would disagree."

"You're not going to let me live that down, are you?"

"What, the fact that you, my mate, let Molly Hooper, a woman who has coveted my attention for years, make you her bitch? Oh absolutely not." Sherlock said with a smile "However, you might be able to persuade me to keep quiet around others."

"As much as I'm sure I'll regret asking, How so?"

"By doing whatever I want for the next week."

" _Really_ Sherlock! I came here to discuss our relationship, not to be sexually propositioned!"

"I'm well aware. You want me to take you back? You're going to have to grovel, Mycroft Holmes. " Sherlock growled 

"......very well then." Mycroft whispered 

"Right. First order; let me pick my daughter up from nursery school tomorrow."

"Of course. You're clean, there's no reason to keep you two apart. I'm not cruel."

"I beg to differ. You can be quite cruel, when you choose to be. Which brings me to order number two; tonight, you come home with me. To Baker street. Where you belong. "

"Let me know if you plan on making any requests i wasn't already intending to fulfill." Mycroft said passively.

"And you're going to let me fuck you."

Mycroft choked on his drink, startled by his brother's bluntness. It wasn't as though he hadn't been expecting the request, he just wasn't expecting it to come like this. In public. But in hindsight, it was so very Sherlock that he should have anticipated it from the minute he texted back. Mycroft took a minute to compose himself, painfully aware of the crimson blush staining his cheeks. 

"That's a simple enough request. Although, knowing you, brother mine, that's only scratching the surface of what you really intend to do."

"Of course, but the details are hardly table talk. I'll just say that it's better to let Corri stay with John for the night." Sherlock said with a devious grin. "You're beautiful when you blush."

"If you expect me to survive this dinner, you'll have to stop that."

"Stop what?" 

"You know very well what."

"Complimenting you? No, I don't think I will. After all, you never could stand to be complimented. I daresay it overwhelms you. I like seeing you so out of your element. It helps chip away at that calm facade you've always tried to keep up. After all, you're really such a wonderful man under all that."

"And you are an embarassment through and through. I'll get the check."

"Oh what a relief. I really can't wait to get you home and-"

"That's far enough!" Mycroft interrupted. Sherlock complied, amusing himself with the sight of his usually composed brother so undone by nothing more than a string of innuendos and compliments. With the way things were going, tonight would be quite fun. He smirked devilishly and placed his hand on Mycroft's thigh, delighting in the jump of surprise this gesture earned him.

"Sherlock, please, _control yourself_." Mycroft hissed impatiently

"What if I don't want to?" Sherlock purred, tracing circles on Mycroft's leg 

"Then I might be tempted to spoil your plans and take you in the bathroom stall like a wanton whore."

Sherlock was taken aback. Not even in the bedroom had he heard his brother be so crass. It was entirely foreign and certainly delicious. Whereas, he was eager to explore this side of his mate, he had no intentions of doing so tonight and so he reluctantly withdrew his hand. He turned to his cell, pretending as though nothing had happened between them, but from the corner of his eye he judged Mycroft's reactions. The elder Holmes gave no indication that he was affected in any way at all, beyond an adjustment of his trousers. He payed the bill in cash before turning to his younger brother. 

"Shall we then?" He asked calmly.

They walked out of the restaurant arm in arm, laughing to themselves as they overheard their server refer to them as newlyweds. Underneath it all, they were both just glad to be back in each other's lives once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Praise kink Mycroft is my second favorite after protective Mycroft. 
> 
> Also, wow this got sexy fast. Somebody open a window it's too hot in here.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obligitory porn

Mycroft gasped sharply as Sherlock pressed him against the wall. He'd always known that his brother was more dominant than an omega "should be", but was only beginning to realize how far that went. Sherlock loosened his tie and began unbuttoning his dress shirt, kissing his way down his brother's neck. Pulling the shirt aside, he took notice of a fading hickey above the mark he'd left at the base of Mycroft's neck. Sherlock growled at the sight, before sinking his teeth into the scarred wound, effectively re-opening it.

"You are mine, Mycroft Holmes. Should you forget it again, I'll not be so forgiving."

"O-of course." Mycroft panted, reeling from the sudden stimulation. He finished unbuttoning his shirt, letting it hang open. Sherlock wasted no time in raking his nails down his brother's chest, relishing in how little pressure it took to make red streaks appear on his skin, and furthermore, how little it took to make his mate whimper in pleasure. His hands migrated towards Mycroft's belt, undoing it swiftly.

"Tell me, brother mine, where do you want it? In bed? You are so very plain, after all. Or maybe on the couch? Although, perhaps you're feeling a bit adventurous and want to be fucked right here against the wall."

"The- AH! - the couch seems to be the best wager. We'd never make it to the bed, and I will be in immense pain later if we remain in this position." Mycroft managed to stutter out through the stimulation. In a rather impressive feat of strength, Sherlock managed to lift him up and carry him to the couch, laying him down gently.

"This any better, love?" He cooed, kissing every freckle he could find on his way down his brother's chest.

"Much." Mycroft hummed, relaxing under Sherlock's touch. 

"Good."

Sherlock paused, taking a moment to just look at his mate, enjoying the sight of one so powerful, so dominant, sprawled out beneath him in a blushing, whimpering mess. Mycroft squirmed under his gaze, suddey feeling very vulnerable.

"Are you going to get on with it then?" He asked, hoping to convince Sherlock to do anything but look at him like that.

"In a moment. I'm busy appreciating your beauty." 

"Don't." Mycroft warned, his blush deepening. 

"Now, Now Mycroft. You know there's no stopping me at this point." Sherlock said, however he compromised by moving to kiss along the waistband of his mate's trousers. "You are positively gorgeous. A true work of art."

"Sherlock, stop it."

Sherlock made eye contact with him from between his legs, hooking his fingers in Mycroft's belt loops. "Why on earth would I do that when I can tear you apart just by complimenting you?" He purred, tugging his trousers and pants down at the same time."You beautiful creature." 

"Shut up." Mycroft attempted to sound cross, but he was very quickly losing control.

"Alright then, precious" Sherlock said before licking a stripe up his cock. Mycroft let an uncharacteristically loud groan escape himself, hips unintentionally jerking underneath his brother's minstrations. Sherlock chuckled and pulled off of him completely, crossing the room and undressing simultaneously. He pulled a bottle of lube out of an ornate box on the bookshelf, shedding his pants on the way back.

Embarassment got the better of him, and Mycroft turned his eyes to the ceiling, trying not to think too hard about every taboo he was dabbling in as he felt his little brother situate himself between his legs. Sherlock cupped his mate's face, stroking it lovingly. He gently pushed a finger into him, reveling in the pleasured sigh that Mycroft let out. Cautiously, he began to finger him.

"Good _god_ Sherlock! I'm not made of porcelain, you can pick it up a bit." Mycroft hissed in frustration

Not wanting to disappoint, Sherlock sped up, adding another finger and searching desperately for his prostate. A startled moan indicated that he'd hit his mark, and once he had Mycroft flushed a deep red and biting his lip in an attempt to stifle his sounds, he added a third finger. Mycroft rocked into the sensation, encouraging his brother. This was fun, but it wasn't enough. 

"Sherlock....just do it already." He moaned 

"Not until you beg me." Sherlock said calmly, not letting on just how much this was doing it for him. 

"Please." Mycroft gasped, no longer in the mood for games 

"Please what?"

"Please Sherlock, just fuck me already!"

"Well, since you asked so nicely..." Sherlock said, voice thick with lust. He lined himself up and shoved in, not bothering to wait. He set up a pace, making sure to brush his mate's prostate with every thrust. Mycroft came undone beneath him, moaning loud enough that Sherlock was certain everyone could hear him for a city block. He'd never even thought that his brother might be a screamer, but he was certainly excited to discover that it was the truth. Picking up speed, Sherlock bit into Mycroft's collar bone out of curiosity. 

"Sherlock!" Mycroft gasped in response, his nails digging into the other's back. Sherlock was sure to have bruises, given the strength of his mate

Highly aware of the fact that their bout of make up sex was coming to an end, Sherlock reached for Mycroft's hand, interlocking their fingers. Pushing himself as far into his mate as he could, Sherlock came, hips stuttering against his brother's plump arse. Mycroft followed almost immediately after, Sherlock's name on his lips. Panting, they collapsed in a heap on the couch.

"I'm going to interrogate you now." Sherlock said, looking up from his spot on Mycroft's chest.

"Can't you wait?" Mycroft sighed

"Nope. You're too weak post orgasm to be able to lie to me properly, which makes now the perfect time to ask my questions, starting with; how do I stack up against Molly Hooper?"

Mycroft chuckled lightly before answering "I don't think it's much of a comparason. After all, she and I both called out your name during."

Sherlock smiled at this, and then pressed on. "Why didn't you try to save me when you knew I had gone too far? It was very uncharacteristic of you and has been plaguing my mind for some time now."

There was a pause as Mycroft tried to piece together exactly what he wanted to say. "Do you remember when we were watching Rosie, and you were so frustrated with her because she wouldn't stop rolling under the crib?"

"Yes?"

"When I found the bag of cocaine, it occurred to me that I had been rather hypocritical that day. You see, I had chided you for coming to her rescue every time rather than letting her sort it out for herself, when I had been doing the exact same thing for decades with you. I realized that you'd always turn to drugs because you knew that if it got out of hand I'd save you. I had to make you think you were on your own. And that was very difficult for me. When I found the video and realized what you were doing, I went to step in, but it appeared that John was already handling it. So I watched in horror from the sidelines. And that brings us up to tonight." Mycroft explained, a melancholy tone coloring his voice. "Now may I please go shower?"

"Yes. I'm done with you now." Sherlock stated, untangling himself from his brother. He waited until he heard the water running to get up. He busied himself with picking up their clothes, when his eyes were drawn to a small silver package on the mantel. With growing curiosity, he picked it up and turned it around. A little tag on it read "Happy Birthday Sherlock." in Mycroft's handwriting. He smiled, unwrapping the gift even though he was fairly certain of what was inside. His jaw dropped upon seeing it's contents. Mycroft had placed a stone in the bottom to change the weight of the box, certain that his nosy little brother would try to deduce what was inside, so it came as a complete surprise. On a purple silk pillow sat a silver ring that matched perfectly with the one that Mycroft wore on a daily basis. Sherlock picked it up, and his heart caught in his throat when he noticed the inscription on the inside. 

_Brother Mine._

"I see you found your birthday present."

Mycroft's voice startled him. He was so overwhelmed by the gesture that he hadn't even heard the water stop. He turned around sharply, like a child caught stealing from the cookie jar.

"Mycroft...what is this?" Sherlock said, crinkling his nose in confusion.

"It's a ring, Sherlock. Good heavens, I thought you were a detective!"

"And you're supposed to be the smart one. So tell me what this is about."

"Generally it's a sign of commitment. An indicator to the outside world that we are life partners." Mycroft sighed "That is, if you'll have me."

"Of course you idiot." Sherlock's voice cracked as he pulled his brother into a wet hug. "I just wasn't expecting this is all."

"That was very much the point, love."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long! I kept getting embarrassed by my own writing.


	21. Chapter 21

"What if she doesn't recognize me?" A concerned Sherlock asked on the way to pick up Corliss. He was nervous. Unreasonably so. 

"She's only 2 months old. It's a miracle she knows her own name. I wouldn't take it too personally, if I were you." Mycroft said in a pathetic attempt to reassure him. The lack of response indicated that he had failed, and he took his mate's hand into his own. "I apologize."

"Why?"

"Because I realize that I'm not very good at this comforting thing."

"You do your best." Sherlock scoffed. "That's enough."

The car pulled into the parking lot and barely had enough time to stop before Sherlock leapt out. Mycroft scowled. Nervous was not a good look on his little brother. He followed him to the door. 

"I must warn you, I haven't had the time to remove you from the 'do not let this person pick up my child' list yet, so there might be a bit of drama." Mycroft said, placing a hand on Sherlock's shoulder.

"S'fine. Can't be any worse than being strangled." Sherlock gave a brief smile before opening the door.

The room was painted a jarring shade of yellow, cartoon character decals and murals of flowers adorning the walls. Having showed up in time for recess, the place was eerily devoid of children. The smell of apple juice, cheerios, and baby powder hung heavily in the air. Toys were strewn about the faded classroom carpet, some broken, others brand new looking.

"I changed my mind. I think I prefer being strangled. This place is appalling." Sherlock whispered "Is this the best you could do?"

"This facility is rated rather highly, has a multi lingual immersion programme, a focus on the arts-"

"So John put Rosie here because it was trustworthy, affordable, and near his house, and you picked it because you wanted to keep the girls together?"

"Yes."

"Oh, Myke, you've gone soft." Sherlock said, glancing at his brother. "...well, soft-er."

Mycroft didn't have time to deliver a comeback, as a short, rather tired looking woman emerged from the back room and made her way towards them. 

"Mr. Holmes! You're early today. Corri's just fallen asleep." She said, sounding relieved. She suddenly took note of Sherlock, her eyes filling with surprise. "Oh is this...?"

"Ah yes, you two haven't met. Rebecca, this is my mate, Sherlock. Sherlock, this is Rebecca. She's in charge of the children aged 2 months to a year." Mycroft introduced. The two shook hands awkwardly. "I'd like to place him on the pick up list, and also list him as an emergency contact." He continued.

"Yes, of course. Come on back." Rebecca gestured towards the nursery and they followed. The nursery lights were off and the glow in the dark stars on the ceiling were shining a bright green. The walls in this room were adorned with a mural of sheep and chickens and other farm animals. 6 cribs lined the back wall, but only four were in use. Sherlock walked over to them as the grown ups handled the paperwork. Corri was sleeping spread eagled in the crib closest to the wall, a death grip on the teddy she'd been allowed. Rosie slept in the one next to her, bottom in the air and snoring softly. Sherlock smiled at them, greatful that Mycroft had made the decision to put them here together. He reached in and moved a strand of hair from his daughter's face, trying his hardest not to wake her.

"Does John sleep like that too?" Mycroft asked from behind him, gesturing to Rosie.

"Yes. It's hilarious. I gave Mary a framed picture of him like that as a wedding present."

"Oh, I bet he _loved_ that." 

"I got quite the lecture. But it was worth it."

"Shall we head home?" Mycroft propositioned.

"I don't want to wake her up." Sherlock confessed, looking forlornly at Corri. 

"Fine." Mycroft sighed "I'll be the bad guy."

He scooped the baby out of the crib, shushing her gently in an effort to keep her asleep. He managed to get her into the carseat and out of the facility still asleep. Sherlock watched her sleep in the car on the way home. He still couldn't believe she was back in his life. He had thought, for a moment, that this was the final straw for Mycroft and that he'd die alone, waiting for someone to come and save him. He was so very thankful that he was wrong.

In the kitchen of the Baker street flat, Mycroft prepared dinner for the first time in a long time. He'd had to make a rather sudden trip to the store, however, as the only remotely edible things in the kitchen were a banana and half a jar of grape jelly. Sherlock was in the other room with the baby on his lap watching a true crime TV show and trying to explain it to her. Corri was thoroughly occupied with chewing on her father's hand.

"Look, he can't have murdered his wife. See the casing? The placement indicates that she was shot from above. He's wheelchair bound." He said, pointing at the television. Corri giggled happily, reaching towards the television in an imitation of him.

"She can't understand you, you know." Mycroft called from the other room. 

"I know. But it's never to early to start her training. After all, if she's going to take over the family business one day, she's going to have to be an excellent detective."

"Who said that detective work was the family business?"

"I did. Just now."

"One practicing member does not a family business make, brother mine." Mycroft tutted, bringing in their plates. "Besides, a sensible young woman like that is most certainly going to make a wonderful government official." He joked, handing the baby her bottle. Even at 2 months old, she was already developmentally ahead, being able to hold her own bottle and lift her head. Rolling was still giving her quite some difficulty, to which her parents were grateful. They were unprepared for a mobile child yet. 

"Yeah right. Like an energetic young girl is going to want a boring desk job." Sherlock retorted, wrinkling his nose. 

"You're quite right. She should definitely follow in your footsteps." Mycroft said, crossing toward the mantel with intent. "But she'll have to wear the uniform!" He grabbed the deerstalker cap from its hiding place and placed it on Corri's head. It was too big for her, to say the least, its front bill dipping over her eyes, but she shrieked gleefully nonetheless, dropping her bottle in the process. 

"That hat is awful and the very idea that the public associates me with it is appalling" Sherlock pouted from the other end of the couch. Mycroft snapped a photo of his daughter before removing the hat and giving her back the bottle. 

"You're right. It is an abomination to the fashion industry. However, she does wear it better than you" He said, sending the picture to John. 

"Sit down and eat your dinner." Sherlock snapped

Mycroft didn't argue, although he continued to laugh at his brother's frustration throughout the meal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah! It's finally done! This chapter was a pain in the butt! I've had massive writer's block T^T


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this chapter begins the transition into The Final Problem. Angst ahead? Probably. Fluff and bonding ahead? Also probable

John sat in his chair in the small flat he had once occupied with his best friend. His little girl was sitting upright on the floor, covering her best friend in toys. It had taken Rosie no time at all to figure out that Corliss wasn't able to crawl and get the toys like her, so she'd taken it upon herself to bring them to her young friend instead. Corri laid there and accepted her fate, allowing the 8 month old to bury her.

"Sherlock, as much as this has be an...interesting conversation, we should probably stop Rosie while Corri still has a hole for breathing." John said, interrupting Sherlock in the middle of reading aloud an article about an artist who had sculpted the Virgin Mary entirely out of frozen vagina sweat.

"Yes, that's probably a good idea." Sherlock conceded, beginning to unbury his daughter. 

"Rosie, I think Corri has enough toys now." John said as Rosie crawled from around the side table with a teething ring. She looked up at him with confusion.

"Helpin'." She explained. Over the past month, she had begun speaking in one word sentences.

"Yes, I know you're helping, but if you give Corri too many toys, she'll get upset." John explained, pulling her into his lap.

"Kay." She said, although her voice carried a hint of disappointment. She wriggled on John's lap, wanting to get down and play. John released her, knowing that she'd probably fall asleep under a chair or something. 

"I don't mean to be rude, Sherlock, but you never invite me anywhere just to hang out. What's up?" John said to Sherlock, who placed his daughter on the floor. 

"You're getting better, John. I think I might be getting the most difficult case of my career." Sherlock said, steepling his fingers in front of his face. "You see, Mycroft is hiding something from me. And the part that concerns me, is that he's succeeding. I need your help to pry it out of him."

"What's the case?" John asked 

"I don't know yet. But it has to do with me. And I don’t like not knowing about me." Sherlock spat.

"Alright, well. You're the only person Mycroft confides in, so if he's hiding it from you, it's going to take a lot." John said, taking a moment to think. "What do you think he's hiding from you?"

"Do you remember when you told me that your therapist turned out to be a woman who claimed to be my sister and shot you with a tranquilizer gun?"

"Very clearly"

"Well the biggest flaw in that story is that I don't _have_ a sister. At least, that I know of. I was prepared to dismiss it as a case of insanity, until you mentioned my brother's reaction to you _suggesting_ a secret third brother."

"Alright, I think I'm up to speed. You want Mycroft to open up to you about Eurus."

"Bingo. You're better with psychology. I figured you'd have a better time of it than I."

"Well, if he won't talk about her to you, he probably thinks he's protecting you from something. Your sister, assumedly. Which means he sees her as a threat. You know, I bet he's scared of her! We could probably stage something, get him scared enough to piss himself, and get it out of him that way."

"Perfect! He'll be spending the week at the house anyway. Something about classified government work and our safety. How's your Tuesday night look?"

"I'm free. Although, I might have to ask Mrs. Hudson to babysit for me."

Sherlock looked at him curiously. "Why not Molly?"

John took a deep breath before explaining. "Rosie started calling her 'mama', and I wasn't sure that was entirely appropriate."

"Of course it is. She's practically raised the child. She's the only maternal figure Rosie has, now." Sherlock said tactlessly. "Speaking of Rosie, it's too quiet. Could you make sure that she hasn't gotten herself into anything she shouldn't?"

John looked over his shoulder. His suspicions were correct. Rosie had fallen asleep with her bottom in the air in the hallway. "She's napping. We should probably go home. I'm trying to convince her to sleep in her bed instead of on the floor."

"Have a good day, John. I'll see you Tuesday." Sherlock said, picking Corliss up and pulling up a case file. She liked it when he read to her. It put her to sleep every time.

"You too." John said, putting Rosie in her carseat and heading out.

Mycroft came home that afternoon to find Sherlock and Corri both asleep in the chair, a few open case files surrounding them. He lovingly brushed Sherlock's hair out of his face, kissing him on the forehead. Sherlock woke at the contact, moving to look his brother in the eyes. 

"Are you sure you have to go?" Were the first words out of his mouth. 

"Yes, unfortunately. It'll only be a week, brother mine." Mycroft said, continuing to stroke his hair. 

"I miss you already." He lied, beginning to move out from under the stack of case files. They spent the evening cuddling, neither one addressing the fact that they were both aware the other was hiding something. 


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, I didn't get what everyone was saying about TFP being dumb because of all the action until I had to write it. Now I get it.

"Operation: East Wind" is a success. Well, as much of a success as it could be. At the end of it all, Mycroft is almost in tears and Sherlock isn't much better. He's stormed off, all of his suspicions confirmed. John goes to follow him, but Mycroft stops him. 

"Why would he do that to me?!" He asks, hurt. "That was insane!"

"Well, someone convinced him that you wouldn't talk unless you were actually wetting yourself" John explains.

"Someone?"

"Probably me."

The conversation that follows is laced with attitude. John leaves, and Mycroft is left to stew in the mess he's created. He resolves to make a trip to 221 B Baker street tomorrow, this time not as a brother, father, or lover, but as a client. He doesn't sleep that night. He's too busy thinking of Eurus, and how she might be on the loose. She had only been a whisper, but she was already beginning to tear his family apart once more. He felt sad, and guilty, and utterly incompetent. 

The feeling doesn't go away in the morning. Mycroft skips breakfast in order to get to his brother's flat earlier. When he arrives, he gets the cold shoulder from everyone in the flat. He stands near the couch, waiting for something. He doesn't know what.

"You have to sit in the chair." Mrs. Hudson explains dryly. "They won't talk to you unless you sit in the chair. It's the rules."

She's been increasingly short with him, and he wonders how on earth he's gotten on her bad side this time. He begrudgingly sits, looking towards the doorway. 

"She's not going to stay there, is she?" He says a little too harshly. 

"Would you like a cup of tea?" She asks, and Mycroft assumes that's her excuse to exit. 

"Thank you." He says quietly. He'd apologize for his behavior later. 

"The kettle's over there." Mrs. Hudson snapped, and she left to do some cleaning. He'd _definitely_ have to apologize later.

After much dispute and plenty of resistance, Mycroft told everything. The conversation about their disturbing sister dragged on and on for him as he recounted the horrors of growing up alongside her. He could still hear her voice, genuinely confused as she asked him "Which one's pain?" 

Worser still were her haunting lyrics that still echoed in his nightmares, reminding him of the blood on his hands. He relived a nightmare of a childhood in one afternoon and as a result was exhausted. He finishes, telling them of Sherrinford and how impossible it was for Eurus to have escaped, all the while her awful song played through his mind.

Except it isn't in his mind. It's coming from the drone that's just flown in through the window. A drone equipped with a startlingly familiar weapon. A motion sensitive grenade that he himself had authorized. The three of them are on their feet well before it lands.

"Keep back! Keep still!" Mycroft shouts. His eyes meet Sherlock's.

"What's that silver thing on its back, Mycroft?" He asks frantically. 

"It's a DX-707... I've authorised the purchase of quite a number of these. It's known as the patience grenade."

"Patience?" John asks, fear seeping into his voice. 

"If any of us move, it will detonate. Where are the children?" Mycroft responded, cold fear coiling in his gut. 

"Daycare." Sherlock and John say simultaneously.

"Oh thank god." Mycroft lets out a sigh of relief.

"What's the trigger response time?" Sherlock asks, now in thought.

"We have a maximum of three seconds to vacate the blast radius." Mycroft answers 

They plan accordingly. Mycroft is closest to the door, so he's to exit down the stairs and ensure Mrs. Hudson's safety. John and Sherlock are to exit through the windows. The likelihood that they'll survive this is slim. At the count of three, they run. Mycroft has made it to the bottom of the stairs when grenade detonates, the force of the blast throwing him against the floor. The smoke clears. His shoulder is dislocated and he's sustained a concussion, but miraculously, he's otherwise unscathed. Running on adrenaline, he scrambles through the rubble to what remains of Mrs. Hudson's flat. He finds her in the corner of the kitchen as Sherlock had predicted. She's been knocked unconscious, and has a large cut along her calf, but seems to be all right. He briefly checks her over, making sure that she's safe to move, before hefting her over his good shoulder. God, he'd hurt in the morning. He makes his way out of the building and into the street, the sound of sirens assuring him that help had arrived.

On the street, a crowd has gathered. The fire department has arrived, along with two ambulances and the police. John is speaking with a medical technician, holding a rag to his probably broken nose. He's looked better. Sherlock on the other hand, appears perfectly fine, save for a busted lip and a brilliantly purple bruise forming on his cheek. He notices Mycroft first, rushing to help him, three more medical technicians at his heels. They take Mrs. Hudson from him, and he sighs in relief. Everyone survived. They were okay. He could register that Sherlock was speaking to him, but without the adrenaline masking them, his injuries were beginning to overcome him. Without warning, he faints. 

Sherlock catches his brother on the way down, calling for help. As they load him up in an ambulance, he can't help but think that Mycroft is going to pitch a fit when he wakes up in hospital. He rides in back with him, holding his hand more out of habit than to comfort. Memories are beginning to come back to him piece by piece, and he remembers a similar ambulance ride, one after the fire. Only, it was him on the stretcher and Mycroft holding his hand. He was crying, but his voice was calm and reassuring, telling Sherlock that everything was alright. Sherlock found himself tearing up a bit at the memory, and gripped Mycroft's hand a little tighter. Leaning in to kiss him on the forehead, he whispered; 

"Everything is going to be alright."


	24. Chapter 24

"Really, I'm fine!"

Sherlock heard his brother protests from all the way down the hall. The infant in the carrier on his chest kicked happily at the sound of her father's voice. He can't help but smile at her. On his way into the room, he brushed past a very haggard looking nurse, and he felt a twinge of pity for her. Mycroft didn't take well to being cared for.

"Knock knock." He said, stepping past the green curtain. His brother sat in a puddle of blankets, arms crossed over his chest and pouting at the wall. At Sherlock's voice he turned his head. His entire demeanor lightened at the sight of them, and Corliss broke into giggles when he greeted them. 

"Hello, you two." He said with a smile.

"You've been giving them hell, haven't you?" Sherlock sighed as he sat on the edge of the bed. 

"Far less than you would have. Besides, I don't need to be here." Mycroft replied. 

"If you didn't need to be here, you wouldn't be." Sherlock said, taking Corri out of her carrier. The child had been quite a burden since the explosion, probably because of stress, and he hoped that this visit would help her start sleeping better. 

"You're right. Perhaps I should just rip my IV out and leave, like you."

"Do as I say, not as I do, brother mine." He tutted, handing Mycroft their baby.

"I don't think I'll do either." Mycroft said. "You are a terrible influence."

"You're probably right. Oh by the way, what are we going to do about our sister?"

"Of course. You can't just come visit me because you care." Mycroft said sarcastically

"I came because I need a plan, Corri has been miserable without you, and because I care. Besides, they're planning on releasing you soon, and wheras you like to play tough, you really should have someone help you home."

"Ah yes. Home. I suppose that I'll be needing a new lock again?" Mycroft said defeatedly. Corri had begun amusing herself with his hospital bracelet.

"No, with my dangerous criminal sister on the loose, I can't risk having our home security compromised. Speaking of Eurus, _What. Is. Our. Plan?_ " Sherlock was growing frustrated with the small talk. 

"We'll have to go undercover. You and Doctor Watson aren't authorized personel and pose a threat to security, and I'm supposed to give warning before making trips. Once there, I suppose we'll improvise. I don't want to risk predictability." Mycroft said, removing the hospital bracelet from Corri's mouth. The baby shot him a glare, one that looked so much like Sherlock's current expression that he couldn't help but laugh.

"I'm sorry, who are you and where is my brother? You just suggested that we break into a maximum security institution and then wing it. Myke, are you sure you're alright?"

"Physically, I am fine. However, I find myself perpetually unsettled by our current situation."

Sherlock didn't have a chance to respond, as a nurse had walked in. She placed a stack of papers on the table beside the bed. 

"Good news, Mr. Holmes! We're discharging you today. Here's your paperwork." She said cheerily.

"Thank you." Mycroft said flatly, looking upon the stack with distain. Corri's hands were immediately reaching for it, but he shifted her out of reach.

"Well, I'll leave you to it." Sherlock said, taking the baby. "See you after you've unburied yourself."

He got into the elevator and pushed the button for the basement. He figured that a visit with Molly might be in order. They hadn't spoken since the Culverton Smith ordeal. Thankfully, he didn't catch her in the middle of an autopsy. She sat at a small desk filling out paperwork for her most recently finished examination. Corri caught sight of her and squealed excitedly, her little legs kicking in the air.

"Yes, I know precious. Just a day full of surprises, isn’t it." Sherlock said to her before knocking on the office door.

Molly answered almost immediately. She looked exhausted, and like she might've been crying moments previous, but when she saw them she smiled brightly.

"Sherlock! What are you doing here? And with the baby?" She asked, delighted, but confused. "Is this about a case?"

"No, no. They're discharging Mycroft today, so I was here to collect him, but I arrived too early. He's still working on the discharge papers. I thought I'd pop in for a visit, if you weren't busy."

"Oh right. He's recovered well then?" Molly asked, leading them into her little office. She moved a stack of manilla folders so that he could sit down. "Please excuse the mess. I don't often get time to clean here."

"He's fine. Hasn't stopped complaining since he woke up. " Sherlock responded, ignoring the last part of her statement. "So what's got you upset? It isn’t me this time, is it?"

Knowing that lying was futile at this point, Molly sighed. "No, it isn't you. Well, it's kind of you, but it's mostly me. I mean-"

"Is this about the fact that you slept with my brother?" Sherlock said bluntly. 

"It's about a lot of things."

"So yes. Molly, I'm not bothered by it. I mean, you don't have my permission to continue shagging him, but I understand-"

"Sherlock, stop. It's not about the sex. It's about Rosie. She called me 'mummy' the other day." Molly interrupted 

"Oh. Right. That. You shouldn't worry too much about that. She's only a baby. She'll figure it out."

"Oh, Sherlock, you beautiful idiot. I'm not upset because she thinks I'm her mum, I'm upset because I realized that I thought I was her mum. And now John won't let me look after her because he doesn't want her to get confused." Molly sank into her office chair, trying to will away the tears that were welling up in her eyes. 

Sherlock didn't know what to say. He was very much out if his league. For the first time, he was beginning to realize that Molly was a very lonely woman. He got up and walked over to her chair, giving her a very awkward side hug. Corri, still strapped to his chest, reached for the pathologist's necklace. The infant seemed to have developed a fascination with jewelry today. Molly caught her tiny hand before it reached its destination, admonishing her lightly.

"Sorry. She likes dangly objects." Sherlock apologized. He was doing that more frequently as of late. "I honestly have no idea what to do about your situation. Emotions aren't really my area of expertise. I can, however, say that since Mary's death, you've been the closest thing to a functional parent that child has, and if anyone deserves to be called her mum, it's you."

She smiled at him, returning his embrace fondly. "Thank you, Sherlock. That was surprisingly helpful."

"Well, it was...interesting talking to you, but I've got to collect my brother. Knowing him, if I don't he'll just end up hurting himself again." Sherlock said, pulling away. 

"I've got to get back to my report anyway. We should do this more often."

"Alright then."

He ducked out of the office, and went back to the elevator. Sherlock met Mycroft outside his room, where he was fussing over being wheeled out in a wheelchair.

"This is entirely unnecessary. I am perfectly capable of walking!" He snapped, refusing to get in the chair. 

"I've got him. He'll be fine." Sherlock sighed, looping an arm around his brother.

"Really Sherlock! I am fine!!" Mycroft complained 

"It's either this or the chair, Myke." Sherlock whispered harshly. Mycroft gave in, but not without a dramatic sigh. They went home, and began preparing for their trip to Sherrinford. 


	25. Chapter 25

It hurt to leave Corliss at daycare that day. Mycroft remembered Sherlock having to physically drag him from the daycare, a gesture that was either overlooked or unnoticed by the daycare instructors.

As he glared out the window of what used to be his office, Mycroft's worries constantly switched from his infant daughter and his brother, who was currently alone with Britain's most terrifying criminal. He was so preoccupied, he failed to notice a very important detail, one that Dr. Watson thankfully pointed out. 

"Listen to the tape." He said sternly.

"Sorry?"

"Do it now. Listen."

"My sister's methods-" Mycroft began to protest, but was cut off by John's insistence. 

"Just. Listen."

Mycroft listened. To his horror, he realized what John had come to realize a staggering 5 minutes before him; The voice on the tape was the governor's. He turns the volume up in disbelief.

"That's your voice on the tapes, isn’t it? Now, if Eurus enslaves everyone she talks to, then who's in charge of this facility?"

Ice cold fear grips Mycroft's heart as he realizes that they've been duped. His brother is with her. Unsupervised. He's in danger, and at this point, there's nothing that Mycroft can do to save him.

"I'm sorry." The governor says weakly, pressing a button on the remote. "Very very sorry." 

The room is filled with sirens as his sister's plan falls into place. He knows it's foolish; that they're as good as dead, but he runs anyway. He's caught in no time, and he struggles against his captors, almost breaking free before he's knocked out with a baton.

He comes to in Eurus's cell, along with Sherlock, John, and the governor. Relief floods him at seeing his mate alive and relatively unharmed, but it's short lived. They're all pawns in Eurus's game, and it's easy to guess that at least one of them wasn't coming back from this. Mycroft couldn't risk Eurus discovering that he and Sherlock were mates, and they especially couldn't risk her finding out about Corliss. God only knows how Eurus would use her against them. So he buried his worries and waited for the other to come round.

Sherlock is the second to wake. He almost immediately begins to pace the room. There's no doubt in Mycroft's mind that he's come to the same conclusions, and he certainly doesn't appear happy about it. Of course, who would be? Sherlock turns his attentions to John, who has also begun stirring on the hard floor of the cell.

"How are you?" He asks worriedly

"A bit of a lump." John responds. 

Sherlock makes some sort of witty response, but Mycroft doesn't catch it. He's too busy trying to compose himself. Suddenly, the room is filled with the sound of a phone ringing. Mycroft stands, locking eyes with his brother. 

"Are we phoning someone?" John asks 

"Apparently." Sherlock responds curtly.

The phone picks up, and a little girl's voice speaks up over the line. She's young, and terribly frightened. 

"Help me. Please! I'm on a plane and everyone's asleep!" She chokes through tears. 

Mycroft visibly tenses at her voice. A kid. Of course it was a kid. Eurus knew that would get to at least Doctor Watson and himself. She knew that with a child's life on the line, there were few things they wouldn't do. Jim Moriarty's voice comes over the speakers, drowning out the poor child's cries. 

_Hello. My name's Jim Moriarty. Welcome....to the final problem!_


End file.
